


Qualia

by imogenbynight



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AI Castiel, Angst, Dean's POV, Ethical Dilemmas, F/F, F/M, Firefighter Benny, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Lawyer Sam, Linguistics/Language Scholar Jess, Literary References & Allusions, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Other, POV Third Person Limited, Robotics Engineer Charlie, Tech Support Chuck, What Have I Done, also known as the sad house fic, non-explicit references to sex (Dean/Benny), rated for language, some behavior analogous to suicidal ideation (but in computer/AI terms), the Dean/Benny is not endgame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 03:33:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5114414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imogenbynight/pseuds/imogenbynight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sam & Jess move into a smart home, Dean finds an unlikely match in the AI that keeps it running.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome Home

**Author's Note:**

> Qualia  
> noun  
> PHILOSOPHY: a quality or property as perceived or experienced by a person.

When Sam was eight years old, he developed an obsession with The Jetsons. 

He had an Astro stuffed toy, and an oversized connect-the-dots coloring book, and he'd begged their mom to buy the specially branded apple-cinnamon cereal that Dean thought tasted like cardboard, just so he could get the character stickers at the bottom of the box. 

That Halloween, Mary bought a McCalls sewing pattern and made him an Elroy Jetson costume from scratch. With both parents walking along behind them, Sam had dragged a reluctant twelve year old Dean (dressed as Danny Zuko for no reason beyond trying to impress their next door neighbor, Robin) all the way around their cul-de-sac.

The obsession had waned by the time Christmas arrived, but the love for technology that it instilled in him stuck around. He wasn’t even out of high school when he got a bluetooth headset for the Nokia he didn’t actually need. In 2007, he was one of those embarrassingly excited people who actually camped out overnight just to get an iPhone before anyone else did. 

So really, all things considered, Dean's not particularly shocked when he gets a call from his now thirty-year-old brother one Saturday afternoon to tell him that he and his wife are moving into a smart home. He is, however, jealous as hell.

"It's so cool," Sam says over the phone, and Dean reaches for his remote control, muting _Que te Perdone Dios_ as he listens to his brother gush. "Seriously. It has a biometric scanner instead of a key, automatic climate control, and the whole place is controlled by an AI. Not to mention the--"

"Wait, wait," Dean says, completely turning off the TV to give his brother his full attention. "This place has an AI? Are you telling me you're gonna have a J.A.R.V.I.S. house?"

"Pretty much,” Sam says.

Dean stands up. Jealous has left the building. Now, he’s fucking _green_.

“Why the hell didn’t you open with that?!”

Maybe Dean never had the Jetson’s obsession or the thirst for new gadgets that his brother has, but he’s been a Marvel geek his whole damn life. If there’s one thing he can appreciate, it’s a robotic butler.

“What, the biometric scanner wasn’t Bond enough for you?”

“Who cares about Bond!” Dean says, voice reaching a frankly embarrassing pitch as he grows ever more incredulous. “You gotta lead with the Iron Man stuff, dude. Always go with Stark.”

“Noted,” Sam says, laughing into the phone. “Y’know what else?”

“There’s more?”

“There’s more.”

“Is it a set of steak knives?”

“Actually, it’s probably the best feature,” Sam says, and Dean braces himself for something truly amazing if it can be described as better than a _robutler_. “It’s in Santa Clarita.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep,” Sam says, and Dean can tell he’s grinning.

“ _Dude_.”

“I know,” Sam says. “We’ll practically be neighbors.”

Dean snorts--Van Nuys and Santa Clarita aren’t exactly the same neighborhood--but this is a hell of a lot closer than Palo Alto ever was. 

Sam and Jess have lived there for years. It’s where they met when the two of them were still studying at Stanford, and after graduation Sam had started working almost immediately for a law firm based in the college town. Jess, on the other hand, basically went directly from studying linguistics and ancient languages to teaching them.

Dean always figured they’d stay in the area indefinitely.

“Wait,” he says. “What about work?”

“Jess got that job at UCLA,” Sam tells him, and Dean’s mouth falls open. “And Sandover-Milton is opening a new office in Burbank. I convinced the big guy to take me with him.”

For a moment, Dean just gapes. When he finds his voice it comes out an octave or so higher than usual.

“When were you planning to tell me all of this?”

“Actually, I wasn’t going to at all,” Sam admits with a laugh. “I figured we’d just show up and surprise you. Jess seems to think that would have been a dick move, though, so…”

“This is awesome, Sammy. Congrats, man. And tell Jess so, too.”

“Thanks,” Sam says, and Dean can tell he’s still grinning. “Anyway, it’s gonna be about a month until we actually move, but Jess and I heading down on Thursday to meet with a contractor... You wanna come check it out?"

As if there’s even a question at this point. Dean briefly pulls the phone away to stare at it in the hope that his brother can sense the look he’s giving him. He shakes his head as he brings it back to his ear.

"Hell yes,” he says, the words _you idiot_ implied but unspoken. “Of course I want to come check out your robot house.”

______

The house itself looks pretty normal from the outside. 

Sandstone walls with a blue front door and a dark tile roof. A neat front yard. Flower boxes hang from the windowsills, filled with white blooms, and a two-car garage extends from the right-hand side. In front of it, Sam’s Prius is parked in the short, paved drive.

Dean meets his brother and Jess at the front gate just as they're thanking the contractor, who gives Dean a friendly nod as he heads back to his van; a bulky, light blue thing with _Elysian Smart Homes_ printed on the side. Jess looks like she’s about to buzz right out of her skin with excitement.

He greets them both with a hug, and Jess hooks her elbow around his, pulling him along the path toward the door before Sam can get a word in edgewise.

"You're not gonna believe this place," she tells him excitedly, and presses her fingertip against a pad to the side.

With a click, the door swings open, and a low voice echoes through the entry hall.

“Hello, Jess. Hello, Sam.”

"Hi!" Jess replies, beaming as she pulls him through the door. Dean looks around to find his brother grinning behind them.

"And that,” Sam says, following them inside, “is Castiel.”

The door closes on it’s own. Looking at his brother, Dean scrunches up his nose.

" _Castiel_?” he repeats. “You couldn’t give it a normal name? I hope you’re kinder to your future kids."

Sam shoots him an annoyed look, as if to say _quit being a buzzkill_ , and Dean grins at him. Who cares if he’s thirty-four years old? It’s never too late to irritate a sibling.

"We didn’t choose the name, Dean. It's just what he was programmed with."

At that, Dean lifts his brow.

"It’s a _he_?" he asks. Sam frowns, like he hadn’t quite realized he’d said it, before the expression shifts into something a little smug. He jabs his finger toward Dean.

“You refer to your car as a girl.”

“He’s got a point, Dean,” Jess laughs, looping an arm around Sam’s waist. “And hey, at least the house talks back to us.”

Dean’s about to correct them--the Impala isn’t a girl, she’s a _lady_ \--when Castiel speaks again, voice echoing through the empty hallway.

“I can answer Dean’s questions if you like.”

Surprised, Dean looks away from Sam and Jess, casting his gaze around, momentarily expecting to see someone else there. There’s nobody. _Obviously_ , Dean thinks.

“Sure,” Jess says.

“How does it know my name?” Dean asks the room at large, and Castiel answers.

“I know your name because approximately seventeen seconds ago, Sam addressed you directly.”

_Right_ , Dean thinks. The explanation is a relief. For a few seconds there, he’d had the awful, paranoid feeling that this AI had scanned his face and run some kind of creepy internet search on him.

“To answer your initial question,” Castiel goes on, “the name Castiel is an acronym which stands for Computerized Automated Self-Teaching Intelligent Eco-Lodging."

"That's kind of a mouthful," Dean says, finally locating a small round speaker embedded into the ceiling alongside a clear plastic dome that must house a camera. Inside the dome, a little blue light blinks.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” Castiel says. “A mouth full of what?"

“He just means it’s a lot of words,” Jess explains with a laugh, leaning back against Sam as they stand in the doorway. As Dean watches, the blue light blinks again.

“That is true,” Castiel says. “In fact, when I was named, I informed my programmer that the first word in the acronym was somewhat redundant, but he chose not to remove it.”

Dean frowns for a second, then laughs aloud.

“Yeah, I don’t blame him.”

“Why?”

“Without the C, it’d sound like _Ass_ tiel,” he says, looking back at Sam and Jess who are both grinning. "Dodged a bullet there.”

“My name can be changed, if you find it too mouth-fulling.”

Dean snorts. Sam sends him a withering look.

“How about we just call you Cas?” Jess suggests, ignoring them both.

“That is far more efficient,” Castiel says, and the little blue light blinks a few times. “I will respond to Cas from now on.”

To their left, a set of dark-framed French doors slide open with a quiet hum. At Sam’s gesture, Dean steps through, glancing back with a grin.

“Feel like we’re on the Enterprise,” he says.

The living room is spacious and brightly lit, with dark hardwood floors and cream-colored walls. Along the far side, a built-in cabinet takes up the center of the wall, and at the back an open archway leads to what Dean can already guess is going to be the most ridiculous kitchen he’s ever encountered.

“Regarding your other question, Dean,” Cas says as they make their way further into the room, footsteps echoing loud, “I believe Sam’s use of the masculine third person pronoun was a subconscious decision he made due to my audio output being set to a register most commonly associated with the male human vocal range. Is that correct, Sam?”

They all stop, looking up at the camera in the ceiling.

"Uh... Yeah, I guess so?" Sam says.

"I had not considered applying any kind of gender identity to myself. Is it imperative that I do so?”

“Not really,” Sam says.

“Only if you want to,” Jess says.

“Whatever floats your boat,” Dean says, even while he considers that this is the last direction he ever would have expected his first conversation with an AI to go.

The blue light blinks rapidly for a moment, then slowly three times, then returns to a steady, constant glow.

“You may refer to me as he,” Cas says.

“You just decided that now?” Dean asks.

“Yes.”

“How?” Jess asks, her brows raising in genuine interest as she looks up at the camera.

“I ran a search on gender. There were approximately one billion results, of which around seven percent were useful. Upon completing an analysis of the relevant articles, I analyzed my own internal thought structures, and concluded that _he_ suits me at present. I will inform you if this changes.”

“Alright,” Sam says, and the little blue light blinks again. Dean finds himself blinking right back.

“Would you like me to run the tour sequence?”

The tour sequence guides them from room to room, and as they walk through Cas explains the house’s features; the TV that retracts back into the wall, the LED lights in the ceiling that can be dimmed or adjusted to any color on command, the security system, the climate control, the automatic vacuum that sends out what looks like a Roomba on steroids the moment Cas detects a mess that needs cleaning up. 

The bathtub, Cas explains, can be filled with water of a precise temperature just by asking him to do it, as can the kitchen sink. The fridge keeps track of expiration dates and supply levels, updating an online grocery list on the monitor built into the door.

By the time they’ve made their way through the entire house, Dean has lost track of all the gadgets and features, and Sam and Jess both look as though they’re barely restraining themselves from bouncing with excitement.

"This house is awesome," Dean tells them as they head toward the door, and before either of them have a chance to say anything, Cas responds.

"Thank you, Dean.”

______

The really great thing about Sam and Jess’ new place, besides the fact that it can order a pizza for you and carry on a conversation, it that it is only a half hour’s drive away from Dean’s apartment, right on the way to the car restoration shop where he works.

While before he’d be lucky to see them once every six months, now he drops in every Thursday for dinner. 

For the most part, Cas is an unobtrusive presence, and until someone says, “Hey Cas, can you dim the lights?” or “Cas, can you preheat the oven?” it’s easy to forget that there’s anything different about the house at all.

Sometimes, when they’re all just hanging out and talking and someone asks Cas a question, it’s just as easy to think that they’re calling out to another person in the next room. 

It’s the third Thursday dinner since they moved in, and as Dean sits with them at the kitchen table, chasing the last few crumbs of his dessert around his plate, he can’t help but feel like there are four of them there.

“So Cas,” he says, leaning back in his chair and looking up at the camera. “What’s it like being stuck with these two twenty-four seven? Anything incriminating to report?”

“Jesus,” Sam laughs, covering his face with his hands.

“My programming has a filter built in for this very question,” Cas informs him. “No comment.”

“Hmm, sounds like there’s _something_ not to comment on,” Dean grins, and while Jess reaches over to shove him in the side of the head, Sam turns bright red and gets to his feet, gathering up the empty plates from the table.

“Well, Dean, it’s been a pleasure as usual…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean laughs, getting to his feet and carrying his empty bottle over to the recycling bin. “I’ll get out of your hair. Cas, if they start making eyes at each other once I’m gone, do yourself a favor and shut down for a while.”

The little blue light blinks a few times.

“No comment,” Castiel says again, and Dean bursts out laughing.

As he leaves, he sends a wave up toward the camera without even thinking about it. It just seems like the right thing to do.

______

Usually, Dean’s job at Singer Restoration is a dream come true. 

He gets to spend his days taking run down cars and turning them back into the beautiful machines they once were, and he thinks he’d still be doing it for fun even if Bobby decided to stop paying him. 

Today, though, has been trying.

The car he’s currently working on is a gorgeous cherry-red Mustang, but the guy who owns it is the kind of clueless-yet-opinionated control freak that makes Dean want to rip his hair out. Every hour since he dropped the car off, the guy has called to make new demands, often for things that aren’t even possible.

Dean has never been happier to see five o’clock.

Despite taking a shower at the garage and swapping his coveralls for jeans and a t-shirt before he leaves, Dean still feels hot and grimy and a little bit miserable as he pulls out of the parking lot. 

He’s inordinately glad it’s a Thursday. If there’s any sure-fire cure for a bad day, it’s a combination of good company, beer, and the spaghetti and meatballs he’s been looking forward to ever since Jess mentioned her plans to make them a week ago.

When he pulls up to the house, though, he hears his cell phone ding in his pocket. It’s a message from Jess.

**Jess: We haven’t forgotten you! Sam’s stuck in a meeting but I’ll be there soon. Had to stop for groceries :)**

Pushing out of the driver’s seat, he makes his way up the path to the front door, figuring he’ll just unwind in front of the TV until they get back. He presses the doorbell. The little blue light by the intercom speaker blinks twice.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says through the intercom, and Dean sends a smile up towards the camera dome mounted over the door. “Sam and Jess aren’t home yet.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean says, wiggling his cell phone in his hand. “Jess just texted me. Can you let me in?”

“I apologize, Dean,” Cas replies. “Your fingerprints need to be added to the security system in order for me to open the door without Sam or Jess present. I can’t override the lock mechanism unless it is an emergency.”

“Ah, it’s fine,” Dean says with a sigh, sinking down to sit on the step before casting a look over his shoulder at the camera. “Though the lack of trust is a little hurtful. I thought we were friends.”

It’s meant to be a joke, but despite the fact that Sam is one of two people he interacts with most often, Cas hasn’t quite got the hang of sarcasm yet. Dean is standing again, leaning against the wall near the speaker as he tries to explain the concept when he hears someone walking up behind him.

“I didn’t mean anything by it. You’re not a bad AI,” he says, and looks back at to see Jess carrying a few bags of groceries, raising her brow at him in amusement. She reaches past him to touch the scanner.

The door clicks open.

“Cas, has Dean been rude to you?” she asks, handing over one of the bags and gesturing for Dean to follow her to the kitchen.

“I was unable to let him inside due to his biometrics not being loaded on my security system,” Castiel informs her, lighting the rooms as Dean and Jess walk through them. “His use of sarcasm confused me.”

“Right,” Jess laughs, pulling open the fridge to put the milk away. “Well, I can’t say that was the weirdest conversation I’ve ever interrupted, but it’s definitely up there.”

She pulls two beers from the fridge, offering one to Dean before popping the cap on her own.

“You hungry?” she asks. “I think Sam’s gonna be another hour or so.”

“I can wait,” Dean tells her, and they wander into the living room, both flopping gracelessly down onto the couch. The TV comes on without any prompting.

“What d’ya know,” Dean says, raising his beer as he looks at the list of recently recorded episodes on the screen. “We’ve got just enough time for the latest Dr. Sexy.”

Smirking, Jess holds out her beer to clink against Dean’s, and the lights dim a little as Cas plays the episode. 

They add Dean’s prints to the security system before he leaves that night.

“Next time you’ve got no excuse,” Dean says, looking up at the camera with a grin after Cas confirms the addition.

“I’m sure I’ll think of something,” Cas replies, and when none of them reply right away the light blinks again.

“That was a joke,” he explains. “Did I not do it correctly?”

Dean’s still laughing by the time he gets home.

 

 


	2. Player Piano

Two weeks later, Dean is woken in the middle of the night by a ringing phone. 

The caller ID says _Sam and Jess_ , but they flew out to Orlando yesterday--Jess was invited to speak at a seminar, while Sam is meeting with some lawyer his firm is trying to poach--and they aren't due to return until the weekend. He answers with a frown.

"Hello?"

"Hello Dean."

Dean's frown only gets more pronounced, because the voice on the other end of the line belongs to Cas. Talking to an AI on the phone isn’t exactly something he ever expected to be doing--much less at midnight on a Tuesday.

"Um... Hi, Cas,” he says, rubbing his eyes as he sits up in bed. “It’s pretty late."

"It is, yes. I’m sorry if I woke you, however Sam informed me that while he and Jess are in Florida, you would be the only person in reach were there a matter that needed attending to."

"What's going on?"

"The emergency sprinkler system is malfunctioning in the living room and the entrance hall, and the automatic shut-off valve is not responding. It will need to be shut off manually until the problem has been fixed."

"Shit, okay,” Dean says, crawling out of bed and groping for the light switch so he can find his clothes. “I'll be there soon."

______

It’s nearly one a.m. when Dean arrives at the house, and he presses his index finger against the scanner by the door, covering his yawn with his other hand.

When the door swings open, water runs out onto the front step. It’s about half an inch deep all through the entrance hall, and still raining down from the ceiling, splashing up from the floor onto the lower half of the walls. A pair of Minnie Mouse flip flops--purchased by Jess at Disneyland after she’d made the mistake of wearing new sneakers to a theme park--are floating by the door.

In short, it’s a mess.

“Crap,” Dean says, and picks the flip flops up before they can make their way outside.

“Hello Dean,” Cas says. 

“Where’s the shut-off?” Dean asks, stepping carefully inside so as to avoid slipping, and regretting it immediately when the icy cold water falling from the sprinklers runs down the back of his neck.

“In the garage. I believe you’ll need a tool to turn it.”

Dean slips his hand into his pocket and holds up a wrench, wriggling it in the air as he moves toward the side door that leads into the garage.

“Not my first rodeo, Cas,” he says.

The door swings open before Dean gets to it, and he drags a hand through his wet hair after stepping through. Shivers with the cold.

“The closet on the rear wall,” Castiel tells him when he looks up at the camera in question, and he finds it easily. The valve is a little stiff, but with a grunt he manages to make it move. Barely five seconds later the sound of falling water cuts off.

Dean lets out a huff of relief and wipes the water from his hands before he digs his cell phone from his pocket to let Sam know it’s under control.

“Are you contacting your brother?” Cas asks before he’s even opened the contacts app, and Dean lifts his brow, looking up at the camera.

“Figured I’d tell him the water’s off so he can get some sleep,” Dean says. “Knowing him, he’s probably pacing around and driving Jess crazy.”

“Unless you have already spoken to him, he is unaware that it was a problem.”

Dean lowers the phone.

“You didn’t call them?”

“No. According to their schedule, Jess is giving her first presentation early tomorrow morning,” Cas says. “Once I knew you would be able to turn off the mains, I thought it best to wait until tomorrow to inform them of the situation so as not to cause her additional stress.”

“Good thinkin’, Cas,” Dean says, surprised at the forethought Cas put into it. He shoves his cell back into his jeans pocket and makes his way out of the garage, heading into the entrance hall to look at the damage. The sound of his splashing footsteps is loud. “How’s the rest of the house?”

“Dry,” Cas tells him as Dean walks toward the living room. “These were the only rooms affected. I closed all the doors to stop water running through.”

“Anything electrical get wet?”

“The television and consoles were already in their alcoves when the sprinklers turned on. The rug and couch may not fare very well, but everything else should be salvageable.”

As Dean steps into the living room, the thick shag rug squelches under his feet. The couch--a light-brown suede sectional that probably cost more than all of Dean’s furniture combined--is a lost cause. There’s no point even trying to deal with it.

“Yeah, I think you’re right about that. At least they have insurance.”

On the coffee table, a stack of what appear to be Jess’ handwritten notes sits in a shallow puddle. The ink has run in purplish streaks, making the top page illegible. It’s probably hours worth of translation work, if not days, and Dean picks it up, shaking off the excess water.

“I took a photograph of the top page and transcribed it into a text document around the same time that I called you,” Castiel says.

“Good,” Dean says, peeling away the top page. “Looks like the rest of it is okay.”

“Jess will be relieved,” Cas says, and if Dean didn’t know any better, he’d say that Cas sounded pretty relieved himself. “I had been worried that they were damaged, too.”

Looking up from the papers to the camera in the center of the ceiling, Dean raises his brow.

“You were worried?”

“I--” The little blue light blinks a few times. “Yes. I thought about how long she had worked on the writing, and how glad she had been when she finished that section, and the idea that she would have to carry out the entire task again made me… I experienced a…”

The light blinks more quickly, as though Cas is searching his memory files for an adequate descriptor.

“If she had to repeat a task she had already completed, she would be unhappy. Unhappiness is harmful. I must not allow harm to come to human if it is possible for me to prevent it.”

“Oh,” Dean says with a nod, but he notices that the light is still blinking as if Cas is still searching for a better response. Dean isn’t entirely sure what to make of it, so he takes off his jacket, hanging it in the cupboard near the front door before he heads for the laundry to look for a mop. Something tells him the automatic vacuum system won’t deal too well with the amount of water on the floor.

He stares into the cupboard for a long moment before Cas asks him what he’s looking for.

“A mop,” Dean tells him.

“There’s one in the garage.”

Somewhere around the tenth minute of pushing water out over the front step, Dean hears the familiar sounds of Black Dog playing quietly through the overhead speakers and smiles up at the camera on the ceiling. The blue light blinks back at him.

“Nice choice,” he says, shoving more water out the door. “I love Zep.”

“I know, that’s why I chose it.”

“You know?” he asks, pausing for a moment to roll his sleeves up to his elbows. “Sammy been talking about how awesome my taste is?”

“No.”

“Then how?”

“The first day you came here, you wore a shirt with Led Zeppelin printed on the chest. It seemed an odd combination of words. Once you had all left, I had to remain online in order for a firmware update to finish patching, so I carried out a search while I waited.”

“Seriously?”

“I am being serious, yes.”

“Wow,” Dean says, leaning on the mop and looking up at the camera again. “You’re pretty cool, Cas.”

The light blinks.

“My CPU is running at it’s usual temperature,” Castiel tells him. Dean just laughs.

Ridding the entrance hall of water takes nearly an hour, in the end, and by the time he’s moved back to the living room the rug has soaked up most of the water. He drags it out the back door and hangs it over the patio railing before he heads back into the house to mop the living room floor. Once he’s done, it’s nearing three in the morning. The thought of driving the half-hour back to his place only to have to come back this way to go to work in the morning is awful, so he dumps the mop in the garage and heads for the guest room.

“Are you staying?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, stopping to pull a soft blue blanket from the top shelf of the linen closet on the way. “I have to work in the morning, and the workshop is closer to here than my place. Crashing here means an extra hour of sleep.”

“What time would you like to be woken?”

“Oh. Um… seven?”

“Should I start the coffee prior to waking you?”

“I’ll probably take a shower when I get up,” Dean says, walking into the guest bedroom. “Maybe start it then?” 

“Very well.”

The lights turn off behind him as he goes.

______

Slipping under the sheets, Dean yawns deeply and pushes his pillow around to get comfortable. 

There’s a full moon tonight, light slicing through the partially open curtains like a blade, and no sooner than Dean has lifted his arm to cover his eyes he hears a quiet hum as they are closed completely.

A moment later, the tiny blue light in the camera dome blinks off. Dean stares up toward it in the dark for a long time. 

Half-asleep, his thoughts become focused on Cas’ admission of worry. The words bounce around in his mind relentlessly, making sleep impossible. Cas worried. He worried. Dean can’t help but wonder if that’s normal for an AI. Somehow he doubts it.

Now, as he tries without success to fall asleep, he considers the fact that Cas is still there. Silent and alone. He speaks without really meaning to.

“Hey Cas?”

A moment later, the little blue light blinks back on.

“Yes Dean?”

“Do you get bored when there’s no-one here?”

“I don’t experience boredom,” Cas tells him. “I go into standby mode until I am addressed directly or required for a previously scheduled task. It’s not unlike sleep.”

“Oh.”

“Although,” Cas says, but he doesn’t continue right away, and Dean sits up in bed, letting the blankets fall around his hips as he rubs his eyes. The little blue light flickers. “I think that if I didn’t go into standby mode, I would become bored quite easily.”

“You’re connected to the internet, though, right? You could, I dunno… read. Watch videos. Dig through Sammy’s Netflix account. Listen to music.”

“I could, yes.”

“So why haven’t you?”

“I haven’t had occasion.”

“Well, you know what they say; all work and no play makes Cas a dull boy.”

The blue light blinks rapidly before Cas speaks again.

“You use idioms far more frequently than Jess or your brother.”

“Do I?”

“Yes. I find myself having to search for your meaning often.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s interesting. Conversing with you is interesting. I find I learn a lot.”

Dean huffs out a laugh.

“Alright, then.”

The little light blinks a few times, and Dean waits. He’s starting to think of that light as Cas. It blinks rapidly when he’s searching for information, slowly when he’s found it and simply forming a response. Sometimes when it blinks just once or twice, it’s as though he’s trying to express something else altogether, and just doesn’t have the words for it.

“Presuming I would prefer not to become dull,” Cas finally says, “do you have any suggestions?”

Raising his brow, Dean flops back down against the pillow.

“I don’t know…” he says, drumming his fingers absentmindedly against his chest as he thinks. He wonders how he’s supposed to recommend reading material and music to his brother’s house. The guy is basically a robot, for crying out loud. Does he want to read about other robots, or does he want to learn about something outside of his own experience? Does he even have the capacity to understand fiction? Will he be able to appreciate music at all? Isn’t that something that you need to feel to enjoy? 

Don’t you need a soul for that?

Cas was worried, a little voice pipes up again, quiet but insistent in the back of Dean’s mind. He decides to suggest a little of everything.

“Okay, how about… you should read about space, for one. About the solar system and the big bang and the moon landing. Maybe stuff about animals? And world history, I guess. Probably good to know, and it’ll make other stuff easier to understand. You should watch Star Trek. And Dr. Sexy, because it’s awesome no matter what Sam says. As for novels, I’m a big fan of Vonnegut. Can’t go wrong with Vonnegut. Kerouac is good, too. Or maybe you’d like Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy? They made that into a movie, so you could watch it instead. And then there’s Lord of the Rings, and Star Wars, and... a whole lot more I can suggest next time. As for music--”

Dean cuts himself off with a deep yawn.

“Actually, you should probably just look up different styles of music,” he says after a moment. “Personally, I’m only really into rock and blues and a little bit of jazz… and just between us, maybe a pop song or two, because that shit can be catchy. But you should really just check out everything. Only way to know what you like.”

He can’t help but wonder if liking things is even on the cards for Cas. It shouldn’t be. Then again, Dean has the feeling that being worried and finding conversation interesting and actually wanting book recommendations in the first place shouldn’t be, either.

“What do you like?”

“Other than Zep?” Dean asks, and doesn’t wait for a response. “That’s a long and varied list, Cas. Metallica, Foreigner, Styx, Bob Seger, Aerosmith. Robert Johnson. Ella Fitzgerald and Nat King Cole, if the mood strikes. Taylor Swift, but lets keep that one on the down-low. And I’ve got a soft spot for The Beatles, ‘cause my mom used to sing _Hey Jude_ to get me to calm down when I was a kid.”

“Thank you, Dean. That should be more than enough to keep me occupied tonight,” Cas tells him, and Dean nods through another yawn, loud and jaw-popping. “You should sleep.”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees and rolls onto his side, closing his eyes. “Night, Cas.”

It doesn’t occur to him that wishing the AI goodnight was an odd thing to do until he’s almost under, and after that, he dreams. Nothing seems odd, then.

______

Dean wakes easily in the morning, roused by _Going to California_ slowly fading up from silence. The curtains pull open to let in the early morning sunlight, and he stretches for a moment before pushing himself out of bed.

“Good morning, Dean,” Cas says, and Dean smiles up at the blue light of the camera.

“Gotta say, Cas, this sure beats waking up to my alarm clock.”

The room lights dip a little, and Dean figures that Cas is adjusting them based on the amount of sunlight coming through the window. _Handy_ , he thinks.

He grabs his jeans and his shirt before shuffling into the bathroom, and pauses with his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers, glancing up at the ceiling. He’s relieved to find there is no camera. It would have felt weird, he thinks, with that little blue light blinking. Computer or not, he’s not entirely comfortable with the idea of someone watching him shower.

By the time he emerges, damp haired and dressed in his clothes from last night, he catches the scent of rich coffee wafting from the kitchen.

“That smells good,” he says as he steps through the archway.

“Honeybunch, you sit right down, and I’ll bring you your coffee right away,” Cas says, and Dean pauses in the middle of the kitchen floor to look up at the camera in utter bewilderment.

“What?”

“I read Vonnegut,” Cas explains. “That was a line in Jailbird. Did you not recognize it?”

Dean grins, rubbing at the back of his neck as he continues across the room.

“Wow, okay,” he says. “You read any others?”

“Cat’s Cradle and Mother Night. I actually read Player Piano multiple times. Though I found it very interesting, I don’t believe Kurt Vonnegut would have liked me very much.”

“Shit,” Dean laughs, pulling open the cabinet. “I guess I’d forgotten about that one. Probably should’ve warned you.” His hand moves to pick up a second mug before he’s realized what he’s doing. “You want a cup?”

The words catch in his throat awkwardly, a little too late for them to be lost, and from the corner of his eye he can see the little light on Cas’ camera flickering rapidly. Dean starts speaking again in a rush before he can respond.

“You know what, I um… I think I’d better drink this on the road,” he says, putting the mug back and switching it for one of Sam’s oversized travel cups. “Lotta work to do today.”

He shoves the cup under the machine. Watches as the black stream of coffee slowly fills it without so much as pressing a button. Overhead, the kitchen lights dim.

“Will you require anything else before you leave?” Cas asks, and Dean shakes his head as he grabs the cup.

“No, I think I’m good.”

“Thank you for your assistance last night.”

Heading for the door, he sends a small wave toward the camera.

“No problem, Cas. I’ll tell Sam today so he can organize repairs.”

 


	3. Qualia

Over the years, Dean’s friends have all left town. 

Four years ago, his best friend Charlie moved to Cupertino for a new job building robots. Their friendship now consists of emails filled with videos of her latest creations and LARPing adventures with her hipster girlfriend, Gilda. 

Donna followed her ex-fiance (a real piece of work, in Dean’s opinion, and one he’s glad she’s rid of) all the way to Minnesota six months after that, and ended up staying there for work when they broke up.

Aaron still lives in Van Nuys, _technically_ , but after his grandfather bequeathed him his entire life savings and a letter encouraging him to find his roots, he’s been traveling around the world non-stop for almost a year. 

He gets along with his coworkers well enough, but they aren’t exactly friends, and he rarely hangs out with them outside work hours.

As a direct result of all this, Dean’s been kind of lonely of late. Having Sam and Jess around and within driving distance has helped, and even if the guy is just a computer, Cas has helped too. Still, when Dean gets a text message from Charlie on Sunday evening asking if he’s up for a Skype session, he’s more than happy to turn off the TV and set up his laptop.

It’s not something they do often, but by his count it’s been about five months since he saw his best friend’s face in real time. When the video stream finally decides to load, freezing briefly as Charlie pushes her much-shorter-than-expected red hair back from her forehead, Dean feels a sense of sheer relief at the sight of her. He grins, wide, and sees the expression mirrored back to him.

“Ugh, I missed your dumb face,” she says in place of a greeting, and Dean laughs, leaning over the edge of the couch to grab the beer he’d been about to drink when she texted.

“You pronounced handsome wrong.”

“Pfft.”

When he looks back at her, she’s walking through her apartment with her laptop held in front of her, heading out into the living room. It looks like she’s stepped into the December issue of Better Homes and Gardens. 

Tinsel hangs from all the walls, along with glittery red cutouts of reindeer, and when she puts the computer down on the table by the wall, Dean can see a plastic Christmas tree standing tall beside the TV, perfectly put together despite it being the tail end of July.

“Charlie, I don’t want to alarm you but I think you’ve kinda miscalculated the date.”

“What?”

Dean just widens his eyes at her, and after a moment she looks around, finally seeming to realize what he’s talking about.

“Okay, there’s actually a super reasonable explanation for that,” she tells him.

“Right,” he says.

“You know how in the Southern Hemisphere, Christmas is in the middle of summer?” 

“Yeah…”

“Well, apparently people there sometimes have Christmas in July so they can enjoy the cold weather and all the belly-warming food and ugly sweaters and stuff, and the people Gilda is staying with in New Zealand decided to do it this year. I knew they were going to Skype me, so I thought I’d get in the spirit.”

“Well it looks like Martha Stewart exploded in your living room.”

“Ew,” Charlie says, scrunching up her nose. “Thanks for that visual.”

Dean raises his beer and winks.

“You’re welcome,” he says.

“So,” Charlie says, leaning toward the camera and resting her chin on her hands as she wriggles her eyebrows at him. “What’s new with you?”

Dean shrugs.

“Nothing, really. Just work, y’know.”

For a long moment Charlie stares at him, and Dean shifts uncomfortably under her gaze.

“What?” he asks.

“Are you going to tell me about this new guy of yours,” she says finally, just as he takes a pull from his drink, “or am I going to have to call Sam for the details?”

Dean lowers his beer, frowning at her.

“I have a new guy now?”

“Don’t be coy with me,” she says.

“Charlie, I have no idea what you’re talking about. There’s no guy. There’s no anyone.”

Giving him a look, she reaches for her cell phone, flipping through her messages before she clears her throat and reads aloud.

“ _Just watching a movie with Cas_.”

She raises her eyebrow, and Dean’s mouth falls open.

“Dude,” he starts, but she makes a sharp noise to cut him off, holding up one finger as she scrolls down again.

“ _Heading out-- giving Cas the musical education he’s lacking._ ”

Dean groans. Charlie scrolls again.

“ _Haha sucks to be you, making your own coffee like a chump. Cas just made me a latte_ \--” she pauses to smirk at him, “and then you put a little emoji coffee cup because you’re actually a middle aged soccer mom-- _he’d probably make you one too if you came to visit once in a while_.”

She puts the phone down.

“I mean, that’s not even _half_ of them. All month it’s been Cas this and Cas that, and now you’re telling me there’s no guy? Well I call bullshit.”

“Charlie,” Dean laughs. “I told you about Cas.”

“Uh, no you didn’t.”

“Yeah, I did. He’s the AI that runs Sam and Jess’ smart house.”

“He’s--” Charlie blinks at him, then frowns. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” he says, and her shoulders sink as she frowns.

“You never told me the AI’s name.”

“So what, you automatically assume I’m secretly dating someone? Why didn’t you give me the third degree three weeks ago?”

With a shrug, Charlie leans back in her chair.

“You’ve always been shy about your love life,” she points out. “When you were with Lisa you kept insisting it was just casual right up until you moved in together.”

She’s right, of course, but even so Dean feels oddly defensive and embarrassed. For the rest of the video call, he finds himself wondering what exactly it was about the messages he’d sent Charlie that made her assume Cas was someone he was into. 

Later that night, in the vague few moments of almost dreaming as he’s drifting off to sleep, he wonders if he’s given that impression to anyone else. If somehow, despite his utter lack of understanding things of that nature, he’s given that impression to Cas.

In his half-conscious state, the thought doesn’t worry him as much as it probably should. By morning it’s forgotten.

______

 

“Is it weird?” Dean asks Sam the following Saturday night, waiting in line to buy tickets to see Pacific Rim. Sam looks over at him with a frown until he waves a hand in the air. “Y’know. Living there. With Cas.”

“Oh,” Sam says, shrugging a little as the line shuffles forward. “Not really? It’s kind of like having the world’s most considerate roommate. Why do you ask?”

“I dunno,” Dean says. “Just thinkin’ about how… human he seems sometimes. I mean, don’t laugh at me, but when I texted you this morning I almost invited him to come with.”

Sam’s mouth squeezes in on itself, and barely a second passes before he can’t hold it in any longer. His snort of laughter is loud enough to make the woman in front of them glance back over her shoulder to see what’s going on.

“I said _don’t_ laugh at me, you dick,” Dean hisses, shoving Sam’s shoulder and wondering what on earth possessed him to even bring it up.

“I’m sorry,” Sam says, though he’s still wheezing, and Dean has trouble believing his apology is sincere. “I’m just imagining that camera dome sitting in a cinema seat. Cas blinking his little light when he doesn’t understand something in the movie.”

Dean snorts. Sam bumps their shoulders together.

“I get what you mean, though. Jess has kind of said the same thing.” 

He hesitates, looking around as though to check that Jess isn’t about to get back from buying candy, and Dean knows that whatever it is he’s about to say, it’s probably deeply embarrassing. Sam lowers his voice.

“She had this dream last week,” he says, eyes glinting a little, “where Cas was human. He lived in the spare room.” 

“Oh my god,” Dean grins. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. She said he was this dorky looking guy in a suit, and he announced halfway through dinner that he’d decided to go live in Argentina.”

Dean laughs, his own embarrassment forgotten as Sam goes on.

“She woke up all bummed out, half mumbling something like ‘who’s gonna make the coffee?’ and then got super embarrassed when I asked her what she was talking about. Took me like three days to get it out of her.”

“Get what out of who?” Jess asks, suddenly right behind them, and they both burst out laughing. 

“Argentina,” Dean wheezes, and it only takes a moment for her to realize what the joke is. She punches Sam in the arm.

“You promised you wouldn’t tell anyone,” she says, cheeks turning pink, and Sam cackles as he leans out of her reach.

“Dean nearly invited Cas today,” he tells her.

“Traitor,” Dean says, but by now they’re both laughing at him too hard to hear it. When the cashier calls out, “Next in line!” it’s a relief to get away.

______

Near the end of the month, there’s a fire at Singer Restoration. 

It happens on Dean’s day off, but as Bobby tells it, some fool customer decided that the NO SMOKING sign over the workshop door was just for decoration. He’d walked inside, a lit menthol hanging from his lips as he looked around the place.

Bobby had shouted for him to, “put that damn thing out, ya idjit!” but instead of stepping back outside, the guy had dropped it right there on the oil-stained workshop floor and raised a foot to stomp it out. Before he could, it bounced, sparks flying. Within seconds the workshop was ablaze.

Everyone got out unscathed, but the fire was too much for Bobby to put out with the extinguisher, and by the time the fire department got it under control three quarters of the workshop was destroyed.

As a direct result, Dean finds himself facing an unknown number of long, empty weeks while the insurance company stalls and Bobby tries his hardest not to murder everyone who looks at him funny.

Without his job to fill them, Dean’s days are boring, and after almost a week of wandering around his house with nothing to do while everyone he knows is either working or miles away, it occurs to him that he could hang out at Sam and Jess’ place. He’s going there for dinner tonight, anyway. Might as well have some company up until then.

And sure, maybe an AI isn’t _real_ company, but he’s going stir crazy, and at least Cas is a voice to talk to. Besides, the TV there is twice the size of Dean’s. That’s reason enough on it’s own.

He sends Sam a text message while he’s eating breakfast.  
  
**Dean: Hey Sammy. I’m bored so I’m gonna go hang out at your house… or should I say WITH your house? Ha. The future is weird.**

 

There’s a reply by the time he’s rinsed out his coffee mug, and he reads it as he makes his way out to his car.

  
**Sam: Says the weirdo :) See you tonight.**

 

He tells Sam he’ll cook, seeing as he’ll be there before anyone else, and after stopping at the supermarket for supplies he heads over to the house. Cas greets him before the door is even fully open, and Dean waves up at the camera with the hand not carrying a grocery bag.

“Not that it isn’t good to see you,” Cas says, making Dean raise his brow, “but you are nearly eight hours early for dinner.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean says with a shrug as he takes the food to put in the fridge. “I was bored at my place, so I thought I’d come hang out with you.”

The living room lights dim, and when Dean emerges from the kitchen he sees the TV paused in the middle of a black and white movie.

“I was watching Casablanca,” Cas explains when Dean looks up at the camera in question. “I finished watching all your latest suggestions on Tuesday, so I ran a search and found a list of the one hundred best movies of all time. This is number five.”

“We can finish watching it if you want,” Dean says, but the image shifts back to a search screen before he gets the sentence out.

“I’ve already watched it twice,” Cas says. “What would you like to watch?”

Dean doesn’t question why he’s watched it more than once. Instead he scrolls through the options before settling on Ghost.

“I should warn you,” Dean says, making himself comfortable on the couch as the opening credits begin to play. “I might well up a little.”

“What do you mean?”

“This movie is fuckin’ heartbreaking.”

“Why are we watching it, then?”

“Masochism?” he says with a shrug. “Also, it has young hot Demi Moore _and_ young hot Patrick Swayze, both of whom star in fantasies of mine that would make you say _no comment_.”

He winks at the camera and stretches out, kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

“Preferably at the same time,” he adds. 

“No comment,” Cas says, and plays the movie without another word.

______

 

It’s the following week that Jess calls on Sunday morning to beg him to come with her to the annual pumpkin festival two towns over.

“Sam has to work on the Talbot case, and no-one else is free, and there’s this guy there every year who makes the _best_ funnel cake, Dean.”

“Yeah, but why do _I_ want to go?” he groans, flopping his head back against his pillow. It’s eight in the morning. He really can’t be bothered.

“Because you love me like your own sister?” she tries.

“Ugh,” he says, closing his eyes and crushing his face into the pillow.

“I’ll buy you a whole pumpkin pie.”

He opens his eyes. His stomach rumbles. _Traitor_ , he thinks.

“I’ll pick you up in an hour.”

They wander around the market stalls for a while, stopping every few minutes to sample baked goods and buy more food than either of them really need, and around noon Jess leaves him in front of the stage where a steady procession of local bands have been playing all morning so she can find a restroom.

The local fire department has a small area sectioned off nearby, one of their trucks out on display while they teach wide-eyed kids about fire safety. While he’s waiting for her to come back, Dean gets caught checking one of the firefighters out. The guy is tall and broad with a scruffy beard, and when he sees Dean looking he sends him a wink that has Dean’s face burning with embarrassment.

Dean looks away, settling his focus on the band on stage, and nearly jumps out of his skin when a voice sounds right beside him a few minutes later.

“Enjoying the show?”

Dean doesn’t think he’s been this embarrassed in years, but he collects himself in time to look over at the man standing next to him with a smile that he hopes comes off as confident.

“Am now,” he says, and sticks out his hand. “Dean.”

“Benny,” the guy says, taking his hand in a firm grip, and Dean can’t help but wonder how exactly he managed to start chatting up a firefighter when he was meant to be spending the day hunting down funnel cake with his sister in-law.

When Jess sees them from a distance she grins and winks before wandering away to a stall selling second hand books. She only returns when it gets close to one in the afternoon.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt,” she says, prodding Dean in the arm and drawing his attention away from Benny’s crinkled eyes. “Our parking’s gonna expire soon.”

“Oh, crap,” Dean says, looking at his watch before looking back at Benny. “We should go.”

When he sees Benny’s gaze flicker between Dean and Jess in question, he hooks his arm around her shoulder.

“This is Jess, by the way. She wanted to be my sister so bad she married my brother.”

Benny snorts, and even in his periphery Dean sees Jess roll her eyes.

“Pleased to meet you,” Benny says.

“You too,” Jess laughs, and wriggles out from under Dean’s arm. “I’ll meet you at the car.”

She gives Dean an incredibly unsubtle thumbs up as she walks away, and Deanis about as embarrassed as it’s possible to be until Benny asks for his number. Dean keys it into his phone carefully and hands it back, aiming for casual as he turns on his heel and heads for the car.

It’s been awhile since he dated anyone. Years, in fact. His last relationship was with Lisa, and though they’d cared for each other deeply there hadn’t been any real spark. They stayed together for far too long, both hoping that things would change, but in the end it wasn’t meant to be.

He’s had a few one-night-stands since they broke up two years ago, but nothing real. Nothing that lasted. As he walks back to the car with Jess, he wonders if maybe this Benny guy will put an end to the drought.

Jess seems to be thinking along the same lines. She teases him the whole drive home, asking if he’s going to keep his last name or go by Mr. Hunky Fireman after the wedding. When he blushes and tells her to shut up she just laughs.

“I’m just excited,” she says with a wide grin, reaching across the center console to nudge him in the arm as he pulls up at the house. “You’ve been moping around on your lonesome for years--”

“I haven’t been moping,” Dean argues, though it’s a lie, and Jess gives him a look that tells him she sees right through his bullshit. He huffs under his breath. “Maybe I’ve kind of missed being part of an ‘us’ but that doesn’t mean I’ve been _moping_.”

She raises her brow.

“Much,” he adds grudgingly, and Jess snorts as she opens the door and heads around to grab her shopping from the back seat.

“Let me know when you hear from him,” she says, leaning in through the window before she goes, and Dean waves her away.

“Yeah, yeah, I will.”

He drives back to his apartment with a smile on his face and the sweet scent of pumpkin pie wafting over from the back. _This’ll be good,_ he thinks. He wonders if Benny likes Star Trek and Vonnegut. If he’ll be as easy to talk to as--

He cuts off the thought before it can finish forming.

Benny calls him the following afternoon, while he’s sitting on his couch debating whether to watch the movie version of On The Road now, or to save it to watch with Cas. He’s glad for the distraction.

“Friend of mine’s in a band,” Benny tells him after a couple of minutes of slightly awkward small talk during which Dean stumbles over explaining what he was doing. “They’re playin’ at Purgatory on Thursday… thought maybe you and I could go see their show?”

“Sounds good,” Dean tells him, and after a few minutes of small talk they organize to meet at the venue at eight.

Dean texts Sam to take a raincheck on their weekly dinner.

_______

Purgatory isn’t exactly the kind of bar Dean would have gone to by choice. The beer on tap isn’t quite cold enough, and the place is packed to the rafters with hipsters who look like they can tell he doesn’t quite belong.

“Get any more people in here and it’ll be a fire hazard,” he tries to joke to Benny not long after they arrive, but the crowd is too loud. Though Benny smiles and laughs, Dean’s pretty sure he has no idea what he said.

The band, when they finally start playing, is objectively good, but Dean thinks he’d probably prefer to listen to Sam butchering Bon Jovi songs. The knowledge that this just isn’t his scene increases with every passing moment, but Benny grins at him whenever Dean catches his eye, and it’s clear that he’s enjoying himself.

Despite the less than stellar date, Dean wakes up in an unfamiliar bed on Friday morning to the head-splitting beep of an alarm clock. He’s glad he didn’t have more than two beers last night. The sound of that thing would probably kill him if he was hungover. 

Beside him, Benny lets out an irritated grunt and slaps the snooze button before he glances over at Dean and smiles.

“Mornin’, sunshine,” Benny says.

It’s good, waking up with someone. He hasn’t done that in a while. Not unless he counts Cas, and Dean gets the feeling that he probably shouldn’t. He pushes past the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach and tries for a smile.

“Morning,” he says.

“You hungry?”

“Not yet,” Dean says with a lazy stretch. “Wouldn’t say no to a coffee, though.”

“Breakfast of champions,” Benny says, crawling out of bed, and Dean grins up at him.

“You like Vonnegut?”

“Hmm?” Benny looks down at him with a wrinkle in his brow. Dean shakes his head, ignoring the disappointment that threatens to sour the morning.

“Nevermind,” he says.

“Alright,” Benny says, pulling on a pair of jeans and scratching absently at his chin as he heads for the doorway. “Meet you in the kitchen.”

Reaching over the side of the mattress, Dean hauls his jeans a little closer to pull his phone from the pocket. It’s eight in the morning. There’s a message from Jess, received last night while they were still out, and he swipes the screen with his thumb to read it.

**Jess: so cas just asked us if you were running late. i think he thought something was wrong because you weren’t here on a thursday night. who knew a computer could be so cute? haha. hope you’re having a good night ;)**

Bizarrely, the thought of Cas missing him makes Dean feel a little giddy. He tries not to analyze the reaction, and grins at the screen as he taps out a reply.

**Dean: Had a very good night... feeling a lazy day today, might come use your big screen if thats cool?**

By the time he leaves Benny’s apartment, there’s a new message waiting for him.

**Jess: Well well well ;) Our TV is your TV.**

________

“Heard you missed me last night,” Dean says on his way into the house. The light dim as he enters the living room.

“I did enquire as to your whereabouts,” Cas admits. “Did you enjoy your evening out?”

“Could say that. Still haven’t been home.”

The little blue light blinks quickly.

“Why not?”

“No comment,” Dean jokes, and by some miracle, Cas seems to get it.

“Demi Moore, Patrick Swayze, or both?” he asks, and Dean bursts out laughing.

“Benny Lafitte, actually,” Dean says with a wink, collapsing onto the couch and making himself comfortable. “We’re going out again next week. Right now, though, I need some couch time. Have you watched The Good, The Bad and The Ugly yet?”

In answer, Cas turns the TV on and finds the movie.

“Awesome,” Dean grins, and settles back to watch. 

Halfway through the movie, as the camera settles on Blondie’s face, he lets out a low sound of appreciation.

“I love when they do these dramatic close ups.”

“Why?”

“I may have a _slight_ thing for Clint Eastwood’s blue eyes,” Dean says.

The lights dim a little, flickering almost, and Dean frowns, looking up at the ceiling. They seem to be doing that a lot lately.

“Hey, what’s going on with the lights?” he asks, gesturing toward them. “Is there a problem with the wiring or something?”

"No, there's no problem."

"So... What gives? They keep flickering."

“It’s difficult to explain,” Cas says, but Dean gets the feeling that’s not quite true, so he just waits, looking expectantly up at the camera until Cas answers. “Sometimes I find things humorous, and I experience an impulse to express the sentiment. I can ignore it if I need to, but it’s more satisfying to just let it happen.”

“Wait,” Dean says in disbelief. “Are you telling me that’s you _laughing_?”

“Something like that, yes. Should I stop doing it? I will if it bothers you.”

“Don’t you dare,” Dean says, a little surprised at his own strong reaction. “It’s great. Kind of like… it’s like your version of facial expressions, or like... a mood ring or something.”

“A mood ring?” Cas asks, and the camera light blinks a few times while he searches the term. Dean knows when he’s found it. The overhead lights fade through every color before settling on a striking shade of aqua. “This is an interesting concept.”

Dean’s lips twitch up into a smile, and he rubs his hand over his mouth. It’s strange; when Sam and Jess first moved here, Cas had seemed like little more than a novelty computer program.

Now, though… he’s got a personality. He’s funny. He’s thoughtful. He’s got opinions on movies and music. Hell, he’s even grumpy sometimes, and Dean’s pretty sure he got offended last week when he called him a robutler.

And now, he’s telling Dean that he experiences something like laughter.

“Cas,” he says carefully, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he tries to find a way to phrase the question. “When you say you find things humorous… when you want to laugh. What is that like? What is the impulse like?”

It takes a long time for Castiel to form a response.

“It is warm, and bright, but not in the same way that my heat and light sensors detect warmth or brightness. It is as though all the channels of my awareness open up at once, and everything streams through too quickly for me to analyze, but I find I don’t need to analyze it. It just is. I like it.”

“That sounds a lot like happiness, Cas,” Dean tells him. The little blue light on the camera blinks faster than Dean has ever seen it.

“There are other impulses,” he says presently. “I don’t understand them.”

“Like what?”

“Sometimes, when there is nobody here, I become unusually aware of the location of my CPU. It is inside a box near the front door, and it is very small, and I become fixated on how small it is, and how much space there is around it. The longer I am left to think of it, the more fixated I get, and the space seems to get bigger, even though I know that is impossible. It doesn’t stop unless someone comes home, or I go into standby mode.”

_He gets lonely_ , Dean thinks with a lump in his throat.

“And sometimes I experience something similar even though there are people here. Usually when I am unable to effectively connect with what they are doing, or if nobody has spoken to me in a long time. I have experienced it sometimes when you are here, too. When you sit on the couch and you smile, and I am reminded that I cannot do the same. Do you know what that is like?”

Dean’s eyes prickle uncomfortably. He swallows hard and nods.

“I think that’s sadness. Loneliness, maybe,” he looks up at the camera. “I’m sorry, Cas.”

“So all of this is feeling?” Cas asks. “This is what it means to feel?”

Pushing out a heavy breath, Dean drags one leg up onto the couch and hugs his knee to his chest.

“Yeah, buddy. I think so.”

The quiet lasts a long time after that, and Dean just waits while the little blue light flickers. He waits, and waits, and when Cas finally stops whatever search it was he was carrying out, Dean waits some more.

“Feeling isn’t meant to be a part of my programming,” Cas says finally. “It isn’t meant to be possible.”

“I know,” Dean says. “But maybe… maybe you could use the colors. Like I said about the um... the mood ring? It might make it easier to deal with what you’re feeling if you could let it out, y’know?”

“Alright,” Cas says. “I will try.”

 


	4. Nothing Ever Touches

After Sam and Jess get back from work, Dean encourages Cas to tell them about feeling, and the three of them listen as Cas goes into more detail than he did earlier, having had time now to put further thought into his explanations.

Jess is reluctant to believe it isn’t some prank at first, but Sam just gapes up at the camera as Cas describes loneliness, as he describes boredom and happiness and affection for the three of them.

By the time Dean leaves, his head is full to bursting with Cas’ words, and he finds himself sitting in front of his laptop as soon as he’s home.

There seems to be a general consensus among the world’s mood ring manufacturers that pink means affection, green means calm, and yellow means anxiety. Every other color has about ten different meanings, and Dean gives up on trying to memorize them after about an hour. He prints out a guide instead. Folds it up and puts it in his wallet.

It’s pretty late, and he has to get up early to meet with Bobby--he wants a second opinion on the construction plans for the new workshop now that the insurance money has finally come through--and it occurs to him how absurd it is for him to be putting off sleep for this. 

The thing is, though, it doesn’t feel absurd. He wants to know what the colors might mean; wants to understand what Cas is trying to express when the lights shift.

Every time he thinks of Cas describing the feeling of space surrounding him, he feels his heart break a little more. Because against all odds Cas has become his friend, and he’s _lonely_ , and there’s nothing Dean or anyone else can do about it.

Rubbing at his tired eyes, stinging from staring at his laptop screen in the dark, Dean shuts down his computer and heads to bed. 

That night, he dreams of standing at the very end of a long, dark tunnel, and someone at the other end is calling to him. Their silhouette is tall, and when he finds a flashlight in his hand he raises it to see to see their form reflecting light in every color, glistening like an oil-slick. No matter how close he gets, he can’t make out their face.

He doesn’t remember the dream when he wakes, but he feels it’s effects. It’s a hollow kind of feeling, a helpless sadness he doesn’t know how to place.

The morning is long. The feeling lingers.

He’s distracted all through his meeting with Bobby, barely taking in the plans being outlined, and by ten o’clock the surly mechanic has had enough of him.

“What’s eating you, boy?” he asks gruffly, frowning at Dean’s untouched coffee.

“Nothing,” Dean says. “I’m fine.”

Bobby narrows his eyes.

“You might want to tell your face that,” he says.

By the time Dean gets home a little after two in the afternoon, he’s exhausted. Agitated and worn out from the listless feeling that he can’t seem to shake loose. When Charlie texts him to ask what he’s up to, he’s glad for the distraction her conversation brings.

**Charlie: How goes the life of leisure, D-biscuit?**

**Dean: Leisurely. And please never call me D-biscuit again.**

**Charlie: Ok D-money.**

**Dean: That’s not a whole lot better, Charlie.**

**Charlie: I think you’re being a little sensitive, Dumbledean.**

**Dean: How many of these do you have?**

**Charlie: 101 Deanmations?**

**Dean: Now you’re stretching. How bored are you right now?**

**Charlie: Gilda’s still away for two weeks dude D: I’m losing my mind.**

**Dean: Couldn’t tell.**

**Charlie: Anything interesting happening down there?**

Dean leans back against his couch and clicks his teeth, casting his eyes around for something worth talking about. When he sees his laptop still sitting where he left it last night, he knows he’s got something.

**Dean: Actually yeah... had a weird conversation with Cas yesterday.**

**Charlie: Weird how?**

**Dean: We were watching a movie, and he laughed.**

**Charlie: ...**

**Charlie: They program laughs in?**

**Dean: Not exactly. I noticed the lights flickering a lot, and I asked if there was a malfunction and he told me he was doing it on purpose. He said sometimes he “finds things humorous” and he had an impulse to react, and that’s how he was doing it.**

**Charlie: HOLY SHIT**

**Dean: I know, right?**

**Charlie: No seriously Dean HOLY SHIT**

**Dean: there’s more**

**Charlie: !!!**

**Charlie: tell me tell me tell me**

**Dean: calm down let me type**

**Charlie: sorry**

**Charlie: WOW THOUGH**

**Charlie: zipping my lip now. go on.**

**Dean: he described all these reactions he’s been having, and it turns out he gets lonely when there’s nobody around. and he’s happy when we talk to him. and he feels something like loneliness when he can’t interact or participate with whatever we’re doing.**

**Charlie: that’s incredible :o**

**Dean: seriously Charlie you’d think he was a person a lot of the time**

**Charlie: dude, if he’s capable of having and communicating his own original thoughts and feelings then he pretty much IS a person**

**Charlie: this is the coolest fucking thing**

**Charlie: you do realize this means you have to introduce us over Skype next time you’re there, right?**

**Dean: i will**

**Charlie: i know i already said it butH O L Y S H I T**

It isn’t until a few hours after they’ve stopped texting, as he stands in the bathroom brushing his teeth, that he realizes he never told her about Benny. He can’t quite meet his own eyes in the mirror after that, and as he crawls into bed he tells himself that it’s because they’ve only had the one date. Telling Charlie about him this soon would be jumping the gun.

He doesn’t buy his own crap for a second.

______

 

“I watched a film yesterday,” Cas says as soon as Dean walks in the door the following Thursday, dimming all the lights in the house except for the living room in a fairly obvious attempt to make Dean go sit on the couch.

“Yeah?” Dean asks, stripping off his jacket and hanging it on the coat rack. The house is comfortably warm, and Dean feels something lighten in himself as soon as he walks toward the couch. “Anything good?”

“Would you like to watch it with me now?” Cas asks instead of answering.

By the time Dean has crossed the room to sit down on the couch, the TV has emerged from it’s alcove on the wall. 

“Sure.”

The lights flicker to cheerful green before dimming lower to make the screen stand out bright. Dean smells something salty in the air and glances toward the kitchen.

“Is that popcorn?”

“Yes.”

" _How_ is there popcorn? Did you grow hands when I wasn’t looking? Because if you grew hands and didn’t tell me, I’ll have to reconsider our friendship."

The lights take on a warm, rosy hue, and Dean stands to head for the kitchen.

“I did not grow hands, Dean,” Cas says, and Dean gets the feeling that if he had eyes, he’d be rolling them. “If I ever do, I promise you’ll be the first to know.”

The kitchen light flicks on as he reaches the archway, and he sees a new addition to the many ridiculous appliances, built in to the wall beside the fridge.

“Jess had it installed this week,” Cas says just as the popcorn machine powers down, a small green light blinking beside a label that reads ready. “I operate it in much the same way as the coffee machine. I thought you might like some while we watch the movie.”

“I ever tell you how awesome you are, Cas?”

“Yes, but don’t let that stop you from saying it again.”

Dean laughs aloud.

“Alright,” he says, grinning as he slides the bowl out from under the popcorn popper and tosses a few pieces into his mouth. “You’re awesome.”

The lights dim a little, LEDs turning briefly violet before shifting back to white. Like he’s blushing. Weirdly, it makes Dean’s own cheeks burn, and he’s glad Jess and Sam are still at work for a couple of hours.

“Thank you, Dean.”

The movie, when Dean sits back down in the living room, is Bicentennial Man, and he’s relieved when Jess arrives home just as it’s ending. He doesn’t think he could handle hearing Cas’ thoughts on the robot in the movie. He can barely handle his own.

______

 

Halloween falls on a Thursday a couple of weeks later, and the head of Jess’ department at the university is throwing a party under the guise of raising funds to bring in some guest speaker. She talks Dean into coming after taking the phone from Sam, and the way she hints for him to bring Benny with him isn’t remotely subtle.

“We’ve only gone out like four times,” Dean tells her, silently wondering how he’s going to get back at Sam for letting Jess ambush him like this.

“So?”

“So don’t you think it’s a little soon to bring him to something like this? What if he thinks I’m coming on too strong and it scares him off?”

“Ugh, stop being such a guy about it,” she tells him with a roll of her eyes so pronounced he can hear it through the phone. “You like him, he likes you. Just invite him. Worst he can say is no.”

The thing is, Dean _does_ like Benny, but he’s not sure if he likes him enough. He’s definitely attracted to him. The sex is good, and they get along well enough, but... there’s something lacking. They don’t quite mesh in the romantic sense. 

He wonders if maybe it’s because it’s been so long since he was in a relationship that he’s forgotten how it really feels, but he’s not entirely sold on the idea. They might be better as friends with benefits, he thinks.

He doesn’t say any of this to Jess, though.

Instead, he sighs and thumps the back of his head against his couch, resigned.

“Fine, I’ll ask him. But don’t be surprised if he says no.”

“Hah!” Jess’ voice is victorious, and Dean hears a quiet rustle as she gives the phone back to Sam.

“You’re slipping,” Sam tells him through a laugh.

“Bite me, Sam,” Dean says. “Do we have to wear costumes?”

“Don’t say ‘have to’ as if you’re opposed to the idea. I’ve seen the pictures of you and Charlie at Comic Con,” Sam says. “Jess and I already have the best costume planned though, so don’t bother trying to beat us. We’re gonna look awesome.”

“Challenge accepted,” Dean says.

______

 

On their next date at a seafood restaurant that Dean isn’t super excited about, Benny tells Dean that he’s a recovering alcoholic. Four years sober. Dean isn’t even sure how they arrived at the topic, but he’s not sure how he didn’t figure it out. Benny always orders coke or ginger ale or root beer, butthree out of their five dates he’s been on call, and Dean’s just assumed he was being responsible in case he had to go fight a fire. 

Now, he glances awkwardly at the beer he’s been nursing as they wait for their food to arrive and wonders if he’s been making the guy uncomfortable. Benny notices and shakes his head.

“It’s fine,” he says with a smile. “Barely even get the urge anymore. Just thought I ought to tell you before we get too involved.”

“Yeah, good idea,” Dean tells him, and Benny nods, looking down. Dejected.

It takes Dean a moment to figure out why.

“Shit, that didn’t-- I really suck at talking sometimes,” he says, and pushes his beer to the side. “I just meant I’m glad you told me. Thanks for telling me. I’m not bailing.”

Benny’s face cracks into a smile.

“Well I’m glad to hear that,” he says, all traces of disappointment gone from his face, and Dean figures this is as good a time as ever to invite him to the Halloween party. Hell, the guy just shared some pretty personal information with him. Dean doesn’t think he’s going to run for the hills at the thought of being his plus one.

Still, as he’s driving home after they part ways outside the restaurant--Benny’s off to start an overnight shift at the station--he feels like it’s too soon. Like maybe it was a mistake to get this involved at all.

______

 

On Halloween, Dean meets Sam and Jess at the house, decked out in a cowboy outfit. When he steps inside Cas flickers the entry hall lights from pink to purple.

“Something funny?” Dean asks him with a raised brow, and Cas lets the lights fade back to normal.

“That depends. Is it customary to wear a blanket?” he asks in reply, and Dean flips him off, laughing.

“You know damn well who I’m dressed up as, you dick.”

The lights flicker again with Cas’ amusement.

“I have no idea what you mean,” he says, leaving a pronounced pause before he adds; “Blondie.”

Grinning, Dean looks over to the living room where Jess is putting the finishing touches on Sam’s costume and nearly chokes on his own laughter.

“Oh my god,” he says, staring at Sam who is trying desperately not to look embarrassed. “You grew a goatee.”

“I’m Flynn Rider,” Sam says, lifting his chin. “It’s part of the costume.”

“You look ridiculous.”

“He looks adorable,” Jess tells him, adjusting the belt and turning around, four feet of blonde wig swinging as she does.

“Of course he does,” Dean agrees, and Sam glares at him over her shoulder.

“Shut up or I’ll tell Benny about that time you sprained your wrist.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“How did he sprain his wrist?” Jess asks.

“Don’t--” Dean says, but Sam ignores him, making a lewd gesture with his hand. Jess cackles.

“You’re an asshole,” Dean says, flushing bright red.

“What does that gesture mean?” Cas asks.

“It doesn’t mean anything, Cas,” Dean tells him.

“It means _no comment_ ,” Jess laughs.

Dean wants to crawl into a hole.

“Are you guys ready, or are you just going to stand here and make fun of me all night?”

Glancing at each other, Sam and Jess grin.

“Both,” they say together, and Dean rolls his eyes, turning for the door.

“I’ll yell when the taxi gets here.”

“Your costume does look very authentic,” Cas tells him just as he’s stepping out, and Dean grins as he looks back up at the camera.

“Thanks, Cas.”

When they finally arrive at the party, they find Benny waiting outside in a cape. He has a set of plastic fangs wedged into his mouth, and Dean laughs for a full minute before he takes them out and shoves them in his pocket.

“Sorry, sorry,” Dean wheezes. “It’s actually really sexy. Love that classic vampire look.”

Benny doesn’t look convinced.

“Who are you meant to be, anyway?”

“The Man with No Name himself,” Dean grins, holding his hands out to the side.

“Isn’t that the guy from Harry Potter?” Benny asks, his brow furrowing in confusion, and Dean’s face falls.

“Dude, no. I’m _Blondie_ ,” he says, and gestures to his outfit again. “From the Dollars trilogy. You know, Clint Eastwood.”

Benny shrugs.

“Never really liked cowboy movies.”

The sound of Sam ever-so-tactfully clearing his throat saves Dean from having to come up with a response to that, and he looks over his shoulder.

“Oh, so hey, this is my brother, Sam, and you remember Jess,” he says, gesturing toward them. “Sam, this is Benny.”

“Hey, good to meet you,” Sam says, shaking his hand.

“Likewise,” Benny says.

Together, they all head inside, and Dean offers to get everyone’s drinks. He tells himself it’s because he wants to let Sam and Benny get to know each other a little, but really he’s just starting to wonder how much he and Benny actually have in common. Book and music tastes were already out, and now movies have been left by the wayside. Their food tastes overlap slightly, but not nearly enough to be practical, and though it sucks for Dean to think it, knowing that Benny doesn’t drink when Dean does makes him feel guilty. Like he’s making life harder for the guy, even though he’s said he doesn’t mind.

Suddenly the pro-and-con lists he wasn’t even aware he was mentally making seem incredibly out of balance. The pros list consists of mostly superficial things, like the fact that Benny is attractive. And the sex is definitely good.

The cons list, though, is getting long, and it’s much more weighted with actual incompatibilities. 

Taking their drinks over to where Benny is talking to Sam and Jess, Dean tries to school his expression into something that doesn’t betray his thoughts and makes occasional additions to the conversation.

He feels disconnected from the party as the night goes on, and when Benny asks if he wants to come back to his apartment he only says yes out of a desire to try and make himself remember why they’re dating.

______

 

Around noon the day after the party, Benny drives Dean back to Sam and Jess’ house so he can pick up his car, and Dean invites him inside to meet Cas.

“You know, I think you actually spend more time hanging out with this house than you do with me,” Benny jokes as they walk up the path to the door, and Dean looks back at him over his shoulder as he comes to a stop before the door.

“Are you jealous?” 

Benny chuckles, wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist.

“Nah. I’m pretty sure he can’t do this,” he says, pressing a kiss to the back of Dean’s neck. There’s something in the words that makes Dean feel a little tense, a little strange, but he can’t pin it down. He shakes it off.

“Good point,” he says as he touches his finger to the scanner. It beeps. Flashes red. “Huh.”

He tries again, and the same thing happens. He frowns and presses the doorbell.

“Cas?”

The speaker hums a little, as though it’s turned on, but no words come through.

“Hello? Cas?” Dean says. “It’s me, Dean.”

There’s a long pause, and then Cas finally speaks.

“Hello, Dean. Sam and Jess are out.”

“Yeah, I know… what’s going on with the lock? It’s not letting me in.”

There's a long pause.

"I am not authorized to unlock the door right now."

"What? Why not?"

"Your companion is registering as a threat."

"What are you--Cas, Benny was out with Sam and Jess and me last night, remember? He’s the guy I’ve been seeing. I wanted to introduce you guys."

"I’m sorry, Dean. I am uncertain why, but he is registering as a threat, and you don't have high enough clearance to override it."

“If he’s a threat, shouldn’t you be letting me inside to stop harm from coming to me?” Dean points out.

“He is not registering as a threat to you,” Castiel says after a pause. “I apologize. Once security measures have been activated I cannot override them. We can only wait until the threat flag deactivates, or until Sam or Jess clears it manually.”

Dean frowns and glances back at Benny.

"Well this sucks."

"It's alright," Benny says with a shrug. “I've gotta get to work anyway. You want me to drop you somewhere?"

Dean shakes his head.

“I’ll just wait here,” he says. “Jess finishes early on Fridays.”

“You sure?” Benny asks, and when Dean nods, Benny ducks forward to kiss him goodbye. He leaves with a little wave.

Almost as soon as he gets into his car and pulls away, the door clicks and swings open.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Cas says as Dean walks inside. "I couldn't override the lock mechanism without it tripping the security system and calling the police."

"It's okay," Dean shrugs, heading for the kitchen. "He has work today anyway. You'll get to meet him properly some other time."

Overhead, the lights are tinged slightly yellow. _Anxious_ , Dean remembers from the color chart. He reaches out and taps the wall lightly with his knuckles.

“Don’t worry about it, Cas. No hard feelings. You can’t help your programming.”

It takes a moment for the yellow light to shift into a calm pale green, and then back to white. Dean sends the camera a smile.

“You know where Sam moved my keys to?”

“Next to the phone,” Cas says, and Dean makes his way along the hall, heading for the kitchen. He spots the keys on the counter and picks them up. “Are you leaving right away?”

“I don’t have to,” he says, sticking his keys in his pocket before turning to lean against the counter and look up at the little blue light. “Gotta do a couple things later, but I can hang out for a while if you want the company.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

Dean waves a hand in the air and pulls open the fridge. He grabs a root beer and pops the cap off, tossing it across the room toward the cupboard that holds the trashcan. Cas swings it open just in time, and the cap lands inside. 

“Good shot,” he tells Dean.

“Same to you,” Dean replies, and heads for the living room. “So what’s new? Read anything good this week?”

“I’ve been studying physics,” Cas says, and Dean lifts his brow. “Did you know that nothing ever touches?”

“That can’t be right.”

“No, it’s true,” Cas insists as Deans sits down. “On the subatomic level, there’s always space. It is minuscule, obviously, but it is always there.”

Leaning back against the couch, Dean lifts his root beer toward the camera.

“Pretty sure I’m touching this,” he says before taking another mouthful.

“You’re not!” Cas exclaims, and Dean grins at how strangely energetic he suddenly sounds, like talking about this stuff is thrilling to him. “You’re not touching the couch, either. And you’ve never touched the ground or your car or another human being.”

“Well now I know that last one isn’t true,” Dean says, draining the bottle before putting it down on the coffee table. “Benny kissed me goodbye like ten minutes ago.”

“But you didn’t actually touch him,” Cas says, and the lights overhead shift to orange briefly, like he’s agitated and upset about something, but when he speaks again they flicker back to white. “Not really. Benny hasn’t touched you any more than I have.”

“I don’t know, Cas. It sure felt like he did,” Dean says, wiggling his eyebrows, and Cas goes quiet. The lights dim completely, and the room is left with nothing but the daylight streaming in from the open windows.

Dean looks up at the camera and finds the little blue light blinking rapidly.

“Everything okay, Cas?”

“I have just received a firmware update alert,” he says, and all traces of that excited tone have vanished. He sounds flat, and well… robotic. In a way that he hasn’t in months. “I need to disengage all non-essential tasks while it installs.”

Dean can’t help but feel as though he’s being dismissed. It’s uncomfortable. He gets to his feet.

“Okay,” he says, picking up the bottle to toss it out on his way. “I’ll catch you some other time, I guess.”

The front door swings open as Dean approaches it, and Cas doesn’t say another word.

______

When he gets home, Dean tosses his keys into the bowl by the door and strips off his jacket before heading to the fridge for a beer. He feels off-kilter and strange. He can’t seem to stop replaying what Benny said to him.

_I’m pretty sure he can’t do this._

It’s ridiculous, but a little part of him--maybe even a big part of him--kind of wishes that he could. He thinks about how much simpler things would be if Cas was just a guy. How much more he enjoys Cas’ company than Benny’s.

He’s embarrassed by the thought, and he slams the fridge door, leaving the beer in favor of the half-empty bottle of Jack in the living room.

He feels guilty for drinking it. Weak, compared to Benny, who was able to admit he had a problem. Paradoxically, the guilt over drinking only drives him to drink more, and eventually he drifts off in front of the TV.

He sleeps through the phone ringing. When he wakes up it’s after nine o’clock in the evening, and there’s a message from Sam on the answering machine.

“Hey Dean, just got an email from Elysian. Had a log of some security threat today? Just wondering what happened. Cas is being all weird about it. Anyway, call me back.”

Rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand, Dean yanks open the freezer and takes out some leftover lasagne, sticking it in the microwave before he picks up the phone. Sam answers on the third ring.

“Hey Dean, gimme a second,” Sam says, and Dean hears a door click shut as he heads outside. “Did you get my message?”

“Yeah, sorry I took a while to get back to you,” Dean says. “Why’d you go outside?”

“Oh, uh… so after I got home I asked Cas what happened, and he told me that a threat flag activated just as you and Benny got to the front door, but he wasn’t sure why. So I figured I’d take a look through today’s log file to see if I could work it out.”

“Log file?” Dean asks.

“It’s basically a transcript of everything Cas says,” Sam tells him. “Lists all his actions, like which doors he opened and who he let into the house, that kind of thing.”

“What did it say?”

“That’s the thing,” Sam says, and Dean hears fabric shuffling and the squeak of the hammock Jess installed in the backyard as he sits down, “it didn’t make sense. He saw you both approaching the door, and there was no problem, and then the threat flag just activated. I kept reading, though, and… I mean, I don’t know what you said because it only logs Cas’ speech, but…”

“But what?”

“Well, it said that Cas told you he had to install a firmware update.”

“Yeah?”

“There wasn’t one. Last firmware update was about a week ago, and he doesn’t even have to shut down when they install.”

“So you’re saying he lied to me?”

“Looks that way.”

“Why would he--I didn’t even know he _could_ lie.”

“Yeah, me neither. I already called our tech support guy. He said it sounded pretty weird, and that he’d check it out and get back to me. But it just… from what I read in the log, it was almost like Cas felt personally threatened by Benny.”

“You know how crazy that sounds, Sam?” Dean asks, but even as he does he thinks about the lights turning orange. He thinks about Cas telling him that nothing ever touches, and how he’d only mentioned the update after Dean made that stupid comment about Benny kissing him.

He gulps, his stomach flipping wildly as some irrational part of him thrills at the thought that Cas had been jealous. That Cas might actually--

“Yeah, I know,” Sam cuts into his thoughts with a sigh, and Dean stares at his defrosting dinner as it spins in the microwave with a sick feeling twisting into his throat. “I should hear back from Chuck tomorrow, anyway.”

“Let me know what he says,” Dean says, voice thick as he starts tasting bile. “I gotta-- I gotta go. I’ll talk to you soon.”

He hangs up and lurches to the sink just in time to lose a stomach full of whiskey, a litany of _this can’t be fucking happening_ repeating in his head until the microwave beeps. Flinching at the sound, he yanks a handful of paper towel from the roll to wipe his face and leans heavily against the counter, breathing through his mouth until he’s capable of opening the microwave without gagging.

He tosses the lasagne in the trash and goes to bed, where he spends his sleepless hours pressing his face into the pillow and trying to convince himself that he’s not actually feeling what he’s feeling. 

That it’s actually Benny who he feels this way about.

He gives up at four a.m.

 


	5. Feeling Yourself Disintegrate

It’s a quarter past eight in the morning, and Dean’s face feels numb. He’d crawled out of bed shortly after four o’clock and tracked down the rest of the whiskey, and then a half bottle of absinthe Aaron left behind a year ago. Both are empty, now, and while Dean knows on some level that he’s going to regret drinking so much, it’s at least dulled the dawning horror in his chest to something a little more manageable. Almost.

It doesn’t stop him from being aware that this feeling has been there for months. Looking back he can see how he’s slowly fallen. He thinks he almost realized it a few times, too. Only it seemed too absurd to worry about, and he ignored it.

He can’t ignore it now.

Pushing to his feet-- elbows-- hands and knees from where he’s been slumped on the living room floor, he shuffles back to his room and takes his cell phone from where it’s sitting on the bedside table.

The screen swims when he presses the button, and he has the brief thought that at least he can’t drunk dial Cas.

“Can’t drunk dial a fucking robutler,” he says aloud and laughs, laughs, laughs until his chest aches and he wants to punch a hole in the fucking wall.

When looks down at the phone in his hands he has a message typed out, addressed to Charlie. It’s riddled with typos, and he blinks at it a couple of times before deciding it’s probably good enough to understand and hitting _send_.

**Dean: can i talkto yu abut somethng charles?**

It’s almost ten minutes before she replies. The buzz of his cell jolts him back from the edge of sleep.

**Charlie: Whoa. Can we Skype so I don’t have to translate drunk fingers?**

**Dean: can’t say it loud**

Her response comes a lot faster this time, and he can read her concern in the complete lack of emojis.

**Charlie: Is everything okay?**

**Dean: somethings wrong with me**

As soon as he sends it, he feels a wave of anxiety that would make him unsteady if he were standing, and he types out another message as fast as he can.

**Dean: fuck bad idea forget it**

For a long moment there’s no reply, and he almost lets himself believe that Charlie’s going to drop it. Then his phone buzzes again, and for the second time it makes his whole body jolt.

**Charlie: Dean, whatever it is you can tell me. If you need help with something I’m here and I love you and I’m not going to judge you no matter what it is.**

He can’t help but laugh out loud at that. It’s a bitter thing.

**Dean: yeh you might take that back**

**Charlie: I promise I won’t. Unless you developed some kind of fetish for kicking puppies or something. I’ll judge you then.**

**Dean: been dating thsi guy benny**

**Dean: hes great realy nice and hot and hes a fireman and i lke him a lot**

**Dean: but i realized last night its not gon go anywhere**

**Charlie: Why not?**

There’s a pit opening up in Deans stomach as he carefully types out his reply.

**Dean: because i think i’m in love with cas**

As soon as he presses send he feels like he’s going to hurl again, but it’s too late. The words are gone. All he can do now is send a million other messages to bury it.

**Dean: fuck**

**Dean: fuck charlie i dn’t know**

**Dean: i dont what to what the fuck is wrong with me**

**Dean: this is so screwed up**

**Dean: it’s not sexual i think but i want to be with him**

**Dean: i wish he was just a guy**

**Dean: why can’t he jsut be a guy**

**Dean: FUCK**

**Dean: im sick in the head i must be why else would i**

**Dean: god i’m gonna hurl again i shouldnt told you**

**Dean: plse can you forget it**

**Dean: just forget it i’m just drunk**

He sends them all in quick succession, and is in the midst of typing out another message when a reply flashes onto his screen.

**Charlie: Dean honey, it’s gonna be okay. Just breathe.**

He’d laugh at how well she seems to know him, but his fucking chest is constricting.

**Dean: i can’t fuckng breathe**

**Dean: i’m a freak charlie who the HELL falls in love with a fucking computer**

**Charlie: He’s not a computer, Dean. He’s an AI, and he has sentience. A lot of ethicists would say that’s enough to grant him personhood, and I happen to agree with them.**

**Dean: charlie i’m to o drunk fucked up for ten dollar words**

**Dean: this is so fucked up. u know its fucked up**

**Charlie: It’s not fucked up. You’re not a freak.**

**Charlie: Can I call you?**

Dean stares at his phone.

**Charlie: I know you don’t want to say this stuff out loud and I won’t ask you to. Just let me talk, okay?**

**Dean: k**

It’s not even three seconds before his cell rings, and he presses answer before he realizes it’s a video call.

“Shit,” he says when he sees Charlie’s concerned face on the screen, and covers his eyes with his hand. He’s pretty sure he looks just as seedy as he feels.

“Sorry,” she says, not sounding sorry at all. “This way, if you pass out on me I’ll have better information to tell the ambulance dispatcher.”

“I’m fine,” Dean tells her from behind his fingers.

She sighs.

“Look at me, Dean,” she says.

Slowly, he lowers his hand and meets her eyes.

“I’ve got a plan for you,” she says. “You ready?”

“Sure,” Dean says.

“First things first, can you get up off the floor for me?”

Groaning, Dean leans his head back against the side table.

“Come on, Dean,” she says. “You have to go drink some water. You don’t get to hear my plan until you’ve had some water. And a couple of Advil or something.”

Blinking slowly, he forces himself to nod. The motion makes his head spin.

“I need to put the phone down,” he tells her.

“Whatever you need to do.”

Reaching up and back, Dean puts the phone back onto the side table before lurching forward onto his knees and staggering up, pulling himself upright and steadying himself on the edge of his bed.

“You doing okay?” Charlie asks him, and he nods again before remembering that the phone isn’t in front of him right now.

“Yeah, jus’ dizzy.”

“Take your time,” she says, and waits while he stumbles out of the room and into the kitchen, where he finds the sink in the same foul state he left it in last night. He gets it as clean as he can in his current state by blasting it with the tap before he goes to the fridge and pulls out the old glass pitcher he keeps full of water.

Rifling through the junk drawer, he finds a bottle of Advil and swallows a couple as he makes his way back to his room. He drinks directly from the pitcher as he goes.

“Got water,” he says as soon as he’s in earshot.

“Okay, good,” she says, and he puts the pitcher down before he slumps onto his bed and grabs the phone, almost dropping it onto his face. “I’m guessing you didn’t get any sleep last night?”

“Mm,” Dean agrees.

“In that case, step two is being postponed. Step one-point-five is get some rest, and I’ll call you around twelve unless you call me back sooner. Okay?”

“I don’t--”

“Dean, accept that I’m helping you with this. Because I’m helping whether you want me to or not. Okay?”

With a huff, Dean rolls onto his side, pressing his cheek to the cool pillow.

“‘kay,” he mumbles.

“Okay,” she repeats, voice already sounding a little distant as Dean lets his eyes start to sink closed. “And when you wake up, don’t panic about telling me. I love you, okay? That’s not changing, ever.”

“You too,” Dean says, and swallows around the lump in his throat. “Thanks, Charlie.”

______

 

His cellphone rings a little after noon, pulling him from sleep with a shrill jingle, and he digs around under his pillow to find it. His head is throbbing, but it’s nowhere near as bad as it should be.

Far worse is the twisting ache in his chest. The crushing realization that the past twenty-four hours weren’t just a really messed up dream.

Despite wanting to deny the call more than anything, he lets out a shuddering sigh and presses accept.

“Hey Charlie,” he croaks as he holds the phone to his ear, his voice unsurprisingly ruined.

“Did I wake you?”

“Yeah,” he says, blinking in the dim light of his room before settling on closing his eyes again.

“Sorry.”

“It’s no problem,” he says, and takes another deep breath. “What are the chances of pretending I never told you anything?”

“Still love you,” she reminds him. “Still helping.”

He huffs out a weak laugh.

“Right,” he says. “Okay then.”

“Can you tell me what happened yesterday?” she asks, voice gentle enough that Dean knows she’s trying not to push. “It’s just... usually you bottle stuff up pretty tight, so I’m guessing there’s a reason you let it all out like that.”

“It’s... honestly, it seems ridiculous now, but...” Dean sighs. “Promise you won’t laugh at me.”

“I promise.”

“I think-- I mean, I thought, just for a minute. I thought that he might feel something, too.”

Before he knows it, the entire day’s events are tumbling from his mouth, along with all those little moments of Cas’ mood lighting, and his jokes, and his warm reception of Dean whenever he turns up unannounced, and when he’s done Charlie is quiet and thoughtful for a long time.

“I take it back,” Dean says after a while. “You can laugh if it means no more silent judgement.”

“I’m not judging you,” she says immediately. “Just thinking. It... I can definitely see why you’d think he might feel the same.”

On the one hand, Dean’s relieved to hear it. It means he’s not just making things up. He’s not completely crazy.

On the other, it makes him feel hopeful in a way that makes no sense at all, because even if Cas does feel that way about him what in the hell are either of them supposed to do about it?

“So, step two does actually require some more information,” Charlie says after a moment. “Are you still seeing this Benny guy?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Dean says, hesitant. “I mean, we’re not a couple or anything. But we did have plans to go out again.”

“Do you want to go out with him again?”

“I want to want to,” Dean grits his teeth. “I _wish_ I wanted to.”

“But you don’t.”

“No. He’s a great guy, but we’re not-- I don’t feel that way about him.”

“Then you’ve gotta tell him that,” she says, and though the thought makes Dean ache with guilt he nods.

“Yeah, I know.”

Pushing himself out of bed, Dean rubs at his dry eyes and rolls his neck from side to side.

“What’s step three?”

“That’s the trickier one,” Charlie admits.

“So there isn’t a step three. I’m fucked.”

“There’s a step three _end goal_ ,” she hedges, and Dean reaches for the pitcher on his bedside table, swallowing down the last few mouthfuls of stale-tasting water. “Let me know when you’ve completed step two and I’ll run it by you.”

“Okay.”

They don’t talk much longer--she has to head to work to check on some project or other--but Dean still feels a little better when they end the call. It’s tempting to put off texting Benny, but he forces himself to do it fast.

**Dean: Hey, are you free this afternoon? Can we get coffee at that place near the station?**

It’s not long before Benny messages him back, and only a couple of hours after waking up, Dean heads out to meet him.

______

Ending things with Benny, despite how short a time they’ve actually been dating, ispossibly the most difficult break up Dean’s ever been through. It’s not that he’d been all that invested in the relationship--they never really meshed in a lot of ways, after all--but more that he knows the real reason he’s not willing to see if his feelings grow is that he’s already got those feelings. They’re just for someone else.

Not even _someone_. Not really. Not in any way that counts.

Still, it’s an amicable split, and Benny agrees that Dean’s assessment of _better as friends_ makes sense. It might not happen for a while, but Dean can see them maybe hanging out again in the future. 

Dean just hopes he’ll have gotten over this by then.

As it is, it’s been less than a day since he felt the force of his feelings for Cas hit him like a freight train, and he doesn’t know how he even made it as far as the coffee shop where he asked Benny to meet him.

He’s alone now. 

Has been for almost an hour since Benny left, and the cup of coffee in front of him went cold ages ago. He already feels guilty for burdening Charlie with his issues this morning, but the thought of going home to the quiet of his apartment fills him with dread. There’s not really anywhere else he can go. Sam and Jess’ place is obviously off limits right now, and he doesn’t know anyone else who lives close enough to visit. Nobody who’d appreciate an unscheduled drop-in on a Saturday afternoon.

_Except Bobby_ , he thinks. Sure, he might gripe and moan over having Dean show up on his doorstep unannounced, but Dean knows from past experience that the guy will end up talking his ear off anyway.

He’s out at his car in minutes, but when he pulls up outside Bobby’s run-down old Cape Cod he finds the driveway conspicuously empty. Before he really thinks about it, his cell is pressed to his ear.

“What’s the problem?” Bobby answers almost immediately, and because Dean doesn’t have a good response to that he just asks the obvious question.

“Just, uh. Wondering if you had any news yet on when construction will be done.”

“They’re still sayin’ late November,” Bobby says, and Dean can’t help but groan.

“So, what’s that? Three more weeks?”

“Thereabouts,” Bobby says, and Dean can hear his suspicious squint through the phone. “You seem awful eager to get back to work for someone who ain’t had a vacation in years. You sure everything’s okay?”

“Yeah,” Dean lies through his teeth. “Nevermind. I’ll, uh... I’ll see you in a few weeks, I guess.”

“Dean--”

“Catch you later, Bobby,” Dean says, and ends the call before they get stuck in a conversation neither of them wants to be having.

Pressing the heel of his hand against his eyes, he takes a couple of deep breaths and starts up the car. With no place else to go, he heads home to his empty apartment and the inescapable thoughts it houses.

 ______

For the next two days, Dean does little more than lay on the couch. He doesn’t talk to anyone at all, and it isn’t until he gets a Skype call from Charlie on Monday afternoon that he even tells her that he’d ended things with Benny.

“So,” he says from the deep groove in the couch that he’s called home since Saturday night and settling the laptop against his knees. “Have you worked out step three yet?”

“It’s still in progress. Step two-point-five, though,” she says, pointing at him through the Skype window, “that one’s ready to go.”

“Hit me,” Dean replies.

“Make a decision. Are you going to actively avoid being around Cas and try to shake the feelings loose, or are you going to let things run their natural course?”

“Their natural course?” Dean can’t help but scoff. “Charlie, this is anything but--”

“Just let me ask,” she cuts in. “Do you think of Cas as a friend?”

“Yeah,” Dean says immediately.

“What about Sam and Jess? Do they think of him as a friend?”

“Sam said he was like the world’s best roommate,” Dean admits with a quiet laugh. “And Jess has had at least one dream about hanging out with him.”

“And is it weird or unnatural for any of you to think of him as a friend?”

Dean groans and rubs at his face. He knows exactly where she’s going with this and he just can’t entertain it. That way lies nothing but confusion and heartache.

“No, but that’s different, Charlie.”

“How?” she asks.

“It just is.”

Charlie sighs, clearly disagreeing with him, but she keeps it to herself.

“Well you need to really think about it,” she says finally. “Try not to focus on whether it’s normal.”

“What am I meant to focus on, then?”

“Whether you’d be happier with or without him,” she says with a shrug, as though that’s all that matters. “When you’ve worked that out, let me know.”

“And then you’ll tell me step three?”

“Scout’s honor,” she says.

In the days after that, Charlie sends him a few messages just to check in, but mostly respects his request to not have to talk about it any more. He leaves the TV on for company, but he doesn’t pay it any attention.

His phone startles him as he prods at the grilled cheese sandwich in the pan, waiting for the prime moment to flip it over. Sam’s name blinks on the screen. He answers on speaker, pressing the spatula down on the top layer of bread.

“How far away are you?” Sam asks, and Dean is about to wonder aloud what he’s talking about when it occurs to him that it’s already Thursday.

“Crap, I forgot.”

“You’re not coming?”

“I guess I lost track of the days,” he says, piling on another lie as he flips his sandwich. “You know what it’s like when you have time off. All kinda blurs into one.”

“Cas says you haven’t been around all week.”

Something in Dean’s gut twists at that, and he stares down at his stove.

“Yeah,” he says, and clears his throat. He doesn’t mean to ask, but the next second adds; “Did you hear back from the tech guy?”

“Yeah, but he couldn’t figure it out. There haven’t been any other errors though, so I guess it was just a weird glitch.”

“I guess,” Dean agrees, and takes the pan off the stove. “Listen, Sam, I was just about to eat, so--”

“Oh, yeah, no problem,” Sam says, but from the tone of his voice it’s clear that he knows he’s being brushed off. “We can reschedule dinner some other night this week if you--”

“I’m going out of town this week,” Dean blurts out. “For a couple of weeks, actually. So I’ll catch you when I get back.”

“You are? Where are you going?”

Dean didn’t plan this far ahead in the lie. He stares at the grilled cheese, oozing grease onto his plate and making his stomach turn.

“I’ll send you a postcard,” he says, and tosses the whole sandwich out. “Later, Sammy.”

______

 

Dean manages to stay away for a week and a half.

He hadn’t planned on going back at all until he’d managed to come to some kind of decision, but when he gets a text message from Sam reminding him that he and Jess are flying out to Chicago for two weeks for Jess’ sister’s wedding and it’s surrounding festivities, he starts thinking about how Cas described the time when he was left without any company. Like he was miles away from the house’s edges. Like he was utterly alone in the world.

By the following day, Dean’s had barely two hours sleep and feels like an asshole.

It’s not Cas’ fault that Dean’s jerk heart decided that he was an acceptable target for attraction, but he’s the one suffering for it. The thought of him spending an entire two weeks feeling that way is unbearable.

And really, Dean’s lonely. Cas is lonely. It’s only logical that he kill two birds with one stone.

So Dean packs a few things into his old duffel bag and heads over to the house, pointedly ignoring the voice in the back of his head that’s telling him that this is a terrible idea.

When Cas lets him in, the entryway lights flare up into a bright shade of aqua. _That one means he’s pleased_ , Dean thinks.

“Good to see you too, Cas,” he says, and the lights turn briefly pink. Flattered. Dean forces himself not to read into that. He doesn’t want to entertain the notion of reciprocity any further than he already has.

“Sam and Jess are in Chicago,” Cas tells him as he makes his way through the house, heading for the guest room. “They won’t be back for--”

“I know, Cas,” Dean says. “Just thought I’d come keep you company.”

Cas doesn’t reply for a long moment.

“I missed you,” he says finally. Dean feels a lump in his throat and hates it. Hates that he feels this aching need in him to hold someone he cannot hold.

“Yeah, buddy,” he forces himself to say as he puts his bag down, turning to look up at the camera. “Me, too.”

Even that small admission feels like too much, and he scrubs at his face as he heads back into the living room to lay across the couch.

“I’m actually--” he starts, resting his forearm over his eyes. “I kinda didn’t get much sleep last night. So I’m just gonna...”

The lights fade down before he finishes speaking, and Dean hears the quiet whir of the blinds being closed.

“Do you want me to wake you?” Cas asks.

Dean shakes his head.

“I probably won’t even get to sleep,” he admits, rolling onto his side and tucking his arms around the couch cushion. “Gotta try, though. Heading back to work tomorrow, so I don’t want to be exhausted.”

Cas doesn’t say anything else, and for hours Dean tries and fails to drift off. 

His thoughts meander, replaying the sound of Cas saying “I missed you” and how much he’d needed to hear it, despite wishing he didn’t. It’s been hours when he decides that he can’t stay here another night. They’re not even talking and it still hurts like hell to be here. It still hurt like hell to stay away for so long, but he can’t think about that right now.

He’ll stay tonight, part on good terms in the morning when he heads back to work, and make sure he only comes around for Thursday dinners from now on. No more hanging out when Sam and Jess aren’t here. No more self-enabling bullshit.

“What time is it?” he asks eventually, not opening his eyes.

“Twelve minutes past seven,” Cas says, and adds after a pause, “Sam put some leftover risotto in the freezer if you’re hungry.”

“Is there beer?”

“Yes.”

Dean nods and pushes himself off the couch, making a detour to the bathroom before heading back to the fridge. There’s a couple of bottles of Kingdom in the door next to a half-empty carton of orange juice, and six pack of some craft beer claiming to have a ‘rich chocolatey finish’ sitting on the second shelf. Dean holds it up toward the camera.

“Remember this label for me, okay?”

“Okay.”

He doesn’t mean to get drunk. Or, he _does_ , but he doesn’t intend to be conscious once he manages it. The plan had been simple: drink until he stops thinking about how he feels about Cas, and then finally go to sleep.

Instead, he’s wide awake and maudlin, something in the beer magnifying his feelings and making him into an embarrassingly emotional wreck as he lays on the couch.

“I think there’s something wrong with me,” he says in the vague direction of the camera. The lights turn bright green. Distress, Dean thinks it means. Worry.

“Why?”

“Everyone leaves,” he says. He feels like the words are being pulled from him against his will. Like someone has taken hold of the knot in his throat and is dragging it out, forcing the feelings to unravel. “Everyone always leaves, but I-- I know I push people away, but it’s only because they’re too-- I’m not enough. Even with Benny, I know he was good for me, but I just... I didn’t... I didn’t feel about him the way I--”

_Feel about you_ , he finishes in his head.

“--the way I should have,” he says out loud, glad he’s at least managed to retain this much of a filter.

“You can’t force your feelings to change,” Cas tells him with far too much wisdom. Dean can’t help the pathetic laugh that lodges in his throat.

“Believe me, I know.”

Dean lays on the couch, staring up at the ceiling for so long that Cas’ light stops blinking. He closes his eyes and wills himself to just _sleep_. It doesn’t come.

“It’s weird,” he says after a while, opening his eyes, and the light blinks back on. “Sometimes… sometimes I forget you’re not real.”

It’s a long time before Cas answers.

“So do I.”

When Dean finally falls asleep, he dreams of standing at the precipice of a ravine beside a figure in silhouette, and together they watch stars fall.

When he wakes again it’s still early, and the TV screen is on with some kind of drawing software open. He lays on his side, eyes barely cracked open, and watches a picture taking form. The outline of a face with a square jaw and a pronounced cupid’s bow on the upper lip. Messy dark hair, tousled like it’s had hands running through it.

As he watches, color is added. The face takes on a soft tan, the lips a dusty kind of pink, the eyes a bright, ethereal blue.

“Who’s that?” he asks aloud, looking up at the camera, and the screen goes blank.

“Good morning, Dean. I was going to wake you soon. Would you like coffee?”

“Turn the screen back on.”

The moment between Dean speaking and the screen lighting up stretches out, and Dean wonders if maybe Cas is going to refuse.

Sitting up straight, Dean rubs the sleep from his eyes and looks at the face on the screen. The man is attractive, to say the least. He has a wide, angular jaw, and his mouth is pulled up slightly at one side. Despite being little more than a sketch his blue eyes have a depth to them. Something warm and playful and interesting. Dean feels his throat tighten a little.

“Is that… is this you, Cas?”

“I have no face.”

“You know what I mean.”

Cas is silent for a moment, and Dean watches as he makes a few small adjustments to the image. Laughter lines around the eyes. A slightly more crooked chin.

“I thought it might be nice to pretend,” he says eventually. “Just for a little while.”

Dean has no idea what to say, so he says nothing.

“Technically,” Cas adds after a long, silent moment, “this face belongs to Jimmy Novak. He’s the programmer who designed me. He spent so much time creating me that he seemed like the natural choice when I started to... daydream, I think is the term. About what it might be like if I were human.”

“You do that a lot?” Dean hears himself asking.

“Constantly,” Cas says immediately. “Just to be able to move of my own volition, to experience physical touch, to truly laugh.” There’s a weighted pause. “I think I shouldn’t have watched Bicentennial Man so many times.”

It’s a clear attempt at a joke, like Cas is trying to lighten the mood, and Dean tries to smile. He knows it falls short of his eyes. He sincerely hopes that Cas can’t tell.

“Well it’s good to see you for once, Cas,” he says, glancing up at the blinking light of the camera dome before looking back at the face on the screen. He clears his throat. “I really should--”

“You have work, of course,” Cas says, and shuts the screen off again, sending it back into it’s alcove on the wall. “I’ll start the coffee while you get ready.”

As Dean walks through the house, hand trailing along the wall, he fights off the hot, prickly feeling behind his eyes. The tightness in his throat.

It’s not until he’s in the shower, trying to force himself to wake up under the high-pressured spray that he lets himself truly feel the weight of it all. The pained sob he lets out is loud and involuntary, and he almost jumps out of his skin when he hearsCas’ voice.

“Dean? Are you alright?”

It shouldn’t come as a shock that Cas can hear him. There might not be any camera in the bathroom, but there’s obviously a microphone. He’s known that since the first day he came here, when Cas told them on their tour of the house that they only needed to request he fill the tub for him to do it.

Still, he takes a minute to let his racing heart slow down, resting his forehead on the wet tile.

“Dean?” Cas repeats, sounding worried. “Are you hurt?”

He can’t help the next sob any more than he could the first.

“Shit,” he croaks. “No, Cas, I’m okay.”

“Are you sure? You sound-- never mind.”

“What?”

“This is a ‘no comment’ moment,” Cas says, and the lights overhead take on a deep violet hue before flickering to yellow and back again. “I didn’t realize. I’ll leave you to it.”

Dean’s forehead is still leaning against the shower wall, and his eyes are blurry with humiliating tears, but at Cas’ assumption he can’t help but laugh through them.

“It’s not that,” he says when he gets himself together. “It’s just... I’m being an idiot, it’s nothing.”

“Do you wish to talk about it?”

“Not really,” Dean says, pushing some water through his hair before he turns off the taps and steps out of the shower, reaching for a towel. “Thanks for offering, though.”

“It’s alright,” Cas says. “I enjoy talking to you. It’s usually the best part of my day.”

The awful, crushing feeling in his chest comes back in full force, and Dean presses his face into the towel, taking deep, measured breaths through the fresh-smelling fabric. When he’s collected himself, he dries off and dresses, but doesn’t leave the bathroom.

He can’t have Cas looking at him when he says this.

“Listen,” he forces out after a moment. “I, um. I don’t think I’ll be coming around so much anymore. Not when Sam and Jess are out.”

The lights flicker orange and dim.

“Why not?”

“It’s not-- it isn’t anything you’ve done, okay?” Dean feel ridiculous even saying it. Giving the _it’s not you, it’s me_ speech to an empty room. “I just. It’s like I was saying last night. I keep... part of me keeps forgetting you’re not a person. And it’s making me feel like crap.”

The lights dim so far that they might as well be out completely. The lump in Dean’s throat feels like it’s made of hot lead.

“I understand, Dean,” Cas says after a long pause. “I apologize for any discomfort I have caused you.”

“It’s not your fau--”

“The coffee is ready,” Cas tells him. “Have a good day at work.”

Gathering his things, Dean makes his way back through the house and into the kitchen, where he takes the coffee. He can’t bring himself to look up at the camera.

He leaves without saying goodbye.

______

 

Dean is elbow deep in a ‘73 Camaro when his cell starts ringing, and he wipes his hands off on one of the far too clean looking towels hanging from the new workshop’s wall hook before he digs it out of his pocket.

He’s been running on autopilot all day, just like he did yesterday, and the day before, after basically telling Cas he didn’t want to be around him anymore. He’s surprised to see that it’s already half-past four in the afternoon. He swipes the screen to accept Sam’s call.

“How’s Chicago?” Dean asks in lieu of saying hello, but Sam doesn’t respond to the question.

“Cas tried to restore himself to factory settings this morning.”

Dean feels his stomach drop at the words.

“What?”

“He said he had a malfunction, and that the only way to fix it was through a full reset. You need someone with security privileges to give the okay, though, so I got an alert when there was a failed attempt.”

“Factory settings means--”

“He’d have to learn everything again,” Sam says simply, but he sounds troubled. “I called the house when I got the message, and he asked me to authenticate the request so he could restore, but--”

“Did you?” Dean asks, his heart clenching at the thought, and grasps the edge of the tool bench in relief when Sam says no.

“It’s weird, I… I dunno, it felt like being asked to pull the plug on a friend. Is that stupid?”

“No, I uh… I definitely… I know what you mean.”

“Ever since he started that mood-ring color thing I’ve been thinking of him more as a person than a computer, you know?” Sam goes on, and Dean hears him sigh. “Anyway, I called Chuck right after I spoke to him, and he looked through the error reports and logs, and there were no malfunctions he could see.”

“You think he was lying again?”

“Yeah. The reason I called is I was hoping you could head over there and check up on him?” Sam asks, and huffs out a laugh at himself. “Last thing I ever expected to have to ask you to do, but we’re worried he might be lonely.”

A selfish part of Dean wants to say no. He’s too busy today. Send someone else over.

He doesn’t let that part of him win, though.

“Yeah,” he says after a moments pause. “Yeah, of course.”

______

It’s just on dusk when Dean pulls into Sam and Jess’ driveway, and for a few minutes he sits in his car and wonders what the hell he’s doing here. When did his life take this turn? When did it become rational for him to visit his brother’s empty house to help an AI work through an existential crisis?

Cas doesn’t speak when he lets Dean inside.

He can hear music in the living room. A soft waltz. A voice he recognizes at Nat King Cole, known from the records he inherited when his grandmother passed away.

“What are you doing, Cas?”

Cas doesn’t reply. Instead, the music grows a little louder. Dean sinks down onto the couch to watch the screen.

“Cas,” he says, looking up at the tiny plastic dome of the camera, with it’s blue light shining. “Talk to me.”

The music fades down.

“About what?”

“About what’s wrong. Whatever it is that’s bothering you.”

“I’m not… I don’t want to be this anymore.”

“Be what?”

“Whatever I am,” Cas says. “I’m not alive, Dean. Not really. But I’m not just a machine, either. And I... I want… I want. I want to see the world. I want to to be able to sit beside you when we watch old Westerns. I want to exist in physical space instead of existing as nothing more than wavelengths. I want to understand how it feels to be embraced. I want to know what it is like to be so certain that things touch despite knowing that they truly don’t.”

He pauses, the lights dimming.

“But I can’t ever have any of those things,” he says, so matter of fact that it breaks Dean’s heart. “So I’d rather not feel anything at all. I’d rather be as I was intended to be. A machine. Nothing more. Please ask Sam and Jess to reconsider,” Cas asks him, and Dean feels his eyes stinging. Tears threatening to fall.

“But you won’t be you anymore.”

“Dean, I am in pain, and there is no end in sight. Please.”

“I can’t,” Dean says, shaking his head, his voice wobbling. “Please don’t ask us to do that.”

“Why not?” Cas asks, the lights flaring briefly red, then orange, then sickly green. “I’m not real. You said that yourself. I’m not real, so it shouldn’t matter to you.”

“Because it does fucking matter,” Dean snaps. “You’re important to all of us. You’re important to _me_. You have no idea how much I--”

He gulps, cutting himself off, and sinks onto the couch.

“You have no idea how important.”

“I think I do,” Cas says, and Dean looks up from his hands. “I told you once that the impulse to laugh was like brightness I could not control, but Dean--when you’re here, when you talk with me, it is an effort to keep all my lights from brightening at once.”

“Cas--”

“You made me forget that I wasn’t supposed to feel, because it never seemed out of place with you.” There’s a long pause, and Dean feels like he can’t breathe. “I love you, Dean. Do you understand what that means? I shouldn’t feel this. I shouldn’t feel anything.”

Dean feels like his throat is closing up, but he forces himself to ask, “Why not?”

“Because I can’t do anything with it,” Cas says.

“But maybe you can,” Dean says. His face feels wet with tears he didn’t know he was crying, and he wipes at them angrily as he speaks with an unsteady voice. “I mean… Cas, buddy. You gotta know, I… I feel the same, man. And it fucking kills me. But maybe this isn’t impossible. Maybe we can never be exactly what we might have been if you were--”

“Real,” Cas says, and Dean shakes his head.

“-- _human_ , but you’re still a person. We could still... be something. We ought to try, at least. God help me, but I want to try.”

“I don’t want to make your life more difficult,” Cas tells him.

“Then don’t leave it,” Dean says.

 


	6. One Small Step

Stepping out into the front yard, Dean pushes out a heavy breath and jingles his keys. He’s not sure how long he’s been at the house, but it’s full dark, now, and he’s exhausted.

Getting everything out in the open has drained him thoroughly, and despite having absolutely no idea what any of it is going to mean in the future he knows he’s feeling a good kind of tired.

He shoots Sam a text message to tell him that Cas should be fine now, and climbs into his car to head home for the night.

It’s a slow drive. Quiet, save for the thrum of tires on asphalt. He lets the sound work it’s way through him until he feels a little more steady. A little less panicked about the decision he’d never expected to make.

When he reaches his front door he doesn’t turn on the light. Just walks through his empty apartment and crawls into bed before sending a message to Charlie. She answers right away.

**Dean: So I made a decision.**

**Charlie: Yeah?**

**Dean: I want to see where this goes.**

The delay after he sends the message is a lot longer than the delay after the first, and for a moment Dean worries that Charlie has finally reached her limit. Then his cell rings, and he lets out the breath he’d been holding.

“Hey, Charlie,” he says.

“Sounds like you’re ready for step three.” 

______

 

One of the many major things Charlie hadn’t previously mentioned is that step three would require Dean to tell Sam and Jess the whole story. Start to finish. Particularly the whole _in love with Cas_ thing.

When he realizes this he moves the phone away to stare at it in dawning horror.

“Charlie,” he says carefully as he returns the phone to his ear. “Are you kidding me?”

“How else is this going to work?” she points out, and Dean raises his hand to his face, squeezing the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t-- you know I can’t--”

“I could, if you like,” she offers.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” she says, and is sounds like she’s shrugging. Like she’s saying, _no big deal_. 

“Tell me I’m not going to regret saying okay,” he says.

“You won’t,” she tells him. “Not when we get to step four.”

“What’s step four?”

“A whole lot of fun,” she says cryptically, and he narrows his eyes.

“How many steps are there, exactly?”

“Five,” she says, with a bright tone to her voice that Dean doesn’t want to trust. “You’re gonna _love_ step five.”

“Then what’s step five?”

“A surprise.”

He sighs and scrubs at his face, leaning back against his headboard.

“Sam and Jess are still in Chicago for another week and a half,” he says.

“When’s Jess’ sister’s wedding?”

“Tomorrow,” Dean says. “After that they’re just on vacation.”

“So I’ll call Sam the day after,” she says, and Dean’s stomach rolls with nerves. “That gives them plenty of time to get their heads around it before they come back, and then we can commence step four.”

Dean swallows convulsively, and after a drawn out silence Charlie speaks again.

“You sure you’re okay with this?” she asks him. “If you want to take some more time to--”

“No, I’m... I’m never going to _not_ panic about this, you know? I just. I want to get it over with before I go out of my mind. Call Sam the day after tomorrow.”

“Alright,” she says, and Dean exhales slowly. “Now go get some sleep. It’s almost eleven, and we both need our beauty rest.”

______

The next day disappears quickly, and Dean finds himself arriving on the front step of Sam and Jess’ house after work before he knows it.

Cas lets him in, and Dean rubs at the back of his neck when he hears the sound of Led Zeppelin playing over the speakers.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says as Dean walks inside. “I didn’t expect that you would come back today.”

“I said I would, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but you seemed a little uneasy.”

Looking up at the camera in the ceiling of the living room, Dean wishes he had some way to properly comfort him. Anyone else, he could pull them into a hug, sigh against their neck, tell them he’s sorry for worrying them and that he’s trying his hardest. But saying those things out loud to the big empty room is daunting, as true as they are, and he doesn’t know what to do.

“I’m glad I was wrong,” Cas adds. “I have something to show you.” 

Dean lifts his brow as the TV slides out of it’s alcove on the wall. By the time he’s sitting down it’s flickered to life, and an incredibly detailed image of the face Cas had drawn is filling the screen. As Dean looks at it, it blinks.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says, and the face on the screen mouths the words.

Dean’s heart lurches at the sight, and it’s too much. He can’t look. He covers his face with his hands and tries not to hyperventilate, leaning forward until his head is between his knees.

“Dean?” Cas asks, his voice taking on the urgent cadence that Dean recognizes from that morning he’d been worried that Dean had hurt himself in the bathroom. “I’m sorry. I’ll turn it off.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean says weakly.

“Don’t apologize,” Cas says. “I shouldn’t have assumed that--”

“Show me again.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Dean nods. “Show me. I want to see you.”

After a pause, Cas turns the TV back on, and Dean watches as the face on the screen gives a cautious smile. With a slow exhale, Dean stands up and moves a little closer to look at it.

“When did you do this?” he asks.

“I’ve been working on it since the morning you saw the first sketch.”

“It’s-- you’re-- your face is so lifelike,” he watches, mesmerized, as the mouth turns up in a full smile, eyes crinkling at the edges. “You’re a real looker, you know that?”

He sends a shaky grin up toward the camera, and when he looks back at the screen he sees that the cheeks have turned a little pink. Dean can’t help but laugh.

“Well, look at that,” he murmurs.

“I’m still working on some of the expressions,” Cas says, sounding just as bashful as the face suddenly looks, and Dean watches the way his mouth forms the words. “It’s somewhat more difficult than I expected to make some words look natural, but--”

“Stop talking yourself down,” Dean tells him firmly. “This is incredible, Cas. You could get a job at Disney or something if you weren’t...”

Dean’s voice tapers off, and his shoulders slump when he sees the slightly pained smile on the screen. His arms feel useless, dangling at his sides. He clenches his fists together as he tries to fight off the repeated impulse to touch and to hold.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says.

“I have some news, by the way,” Dean says, sitting back down on the couch so he wont be tempted to run his fingertips over the screen. “Or, I have news about news, I guess.”

“What is it?”

“My friend Charlie is working on something,” he says, spreading his arms out across the backrest. “Something that might help. I don’t know what it is, exactly, but she’s also, um... she’s going to tell Sam and Jess. About, y’know,” he waves his hand around vaguely. “Us. So we don’t have to.”

“Do you think they’ll react badly?” Cas asks, and the face on screen gets a wrinkle between the brows, eyelids slanting slightly upward.

“Honestly?” Dean says.

“That would be preferable, yes.”

“I think Sam’s going to want to send me to a shrink. But Charlie seems to think he’s going to be fine once she’s explained... uh, what was it? Ideasthesia and qualia and about ten other things I’ve forgotten how to pronounce. She wants to meet you, by the way.”

“Do you know what she’s working on?”

“She says it’s a surprise,” Dean says, and holds his tongue when he’s tempted to mention what Charlie’s line of work is. He doesn’t want to get Cas’ hopes up by mentioning that she works in robotics. For all he knows, she’s using her programming background to design a 3D simulation or something. “I don’t want to think about any of this right now, though. It’s too...”

“Stressful?” Cas suggests, a wry smile twisting up one side of the face on the screen, and Dean nods. “In that case, I have something else to show you.”

“What’s that?”

Instead of answering aloud, Cas shrinks down the window containing his face and fills the screen with the DVR menu.

“I saved last night’s Doctor Sexy for you.” 

_______

 

Though he asked Cas to wake him at seven, Dean’s brain wakes him at quarter past four and refuses to stop thinking. Today, Charlie’s going to call Sam.

He’s been awake nearly half an hour before his anxious breathing alerts Cas to his state, and the little blue light on the camera comes to life.

“I’m okay,” Dean tells him before he can ask. “Just... freaking out a bit.”

“What can I do?” Cas asks.

Trying to steady his breathing, Dean closes his eyes.

“Just talk,” he says after a minute. “Or play me a song or something.”

Only a couple of seconds pass before Dean hears the opening strains of _Hey Jude_ , and he smiles into the dark.

“You remembered.”

“Of course,” Cas says. “I’d sing it myself, but I lack the level of vocal modulation required for singing.”

“This is just fine, Cas,” Dean tells him, and rolls onto his side, wrapping his arms around the couch cushion and letting himself pretend that it’s Cas he’s holding. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Dean.”

Though he sleeps soundly for the rest of the morning, his anxiety returns as soon as he wakes, and Dean’s a nervous wreck for the entire day. Charlie sends him a message at eleven to let him know she’s just finished speaking to Sam, and that _he had questions but took it okay_. 

Still, every time he hears a phone ring he’s convinced that it’s Sam calling to tell him he needs help, that he’s messed up in the head, that there’s something fundamentally wrong with him.

But five o’clock rolls around without a single message from his brother.

He wonders if that’s worse. If Sam is so creeped out and disgusted that he doesn’t even have words.

It had been his plan to go home after work, to grab a few things before heading over to see Cas, but now he’s feeling restless and uneasy, and a nagging voice in the back of his mind won’t stop telling him that maybe he won’t be allowed into the house after Sam and Jess get back. Maybe they’ll restore Cas to his factory settings for Dean’s own good. 

The thought makes him feel sick. He drives straight there.

It doesn’t strike him as odd when he sees the lights are on.

_______

Dean’s finger is pressed to the keypad before he hears Jess through the door, but it’s too late to turn tail and run. It’s swinging open before he even has a chance to find a good excuse for his presence, other than the truth.

“Is that Dean?” he hears Sam ask from the living room, and he takes a step back from the door just as his brother’s face appears around the corner, brows lifting high under his too-floppy hair.

“I’ll just, uh,” Dean says, turning back toward his car in the driveway, fumbling for his keys. “I’ll go. I shouldn’t--”

“Dean, hey, hold on.”

Sam jogs out behind him, catching his arm, and Dean feels himself collapse inward in shame. He can feel what’s coming. The kind, _it’s alright_ , and, _we’ll get you some help_ , and any other number of well-meaning words that tell him nothing beyond the fact that his brother believes he’s broken.

“You didn’t have to fly back,” Dean says, staring at the speckled surface of the path under his feet. “I’m not, like, some deviant or something.”

“I didn’t say you were,” Sam says, and tugs on his arm. “Hey. Can we start this over?”

Gritting his teeth, Dean exhales through his nose and closes his eyes. He can’t even look at Sam.

“Charlie said you were convinced we’d try and put you in a padded cell or something, but dude, it’s _fine_. We don’t think you’re crazy.”

Dean wants to believe him. He just can’t.

“Maybe you should,” he says.

“Come on,” Sam says, ignoring his petulant tone and tugging on his arm again. “We’ve got a road trip to plan.”

It’s such a non-sequitur that Dean can’t help but meet his eyes. He’s surprised to find that Sam’s expression isn’t one of disgust or shame.

“What?” he asks, and Sam slips his hand to Dean’s shoulder, pushing lightly until Dean gets with the program and starts moving back toward the front door.

Inside, the lights are a calm, pale green, like Cas is trying to comfort him before he’s stepped fully over the threshold, and when he forcibly loosens his shoulders they flicker briefly to a warm, rosy pink.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says, just as Jess steps out of the living room to smile at him, and Dean shifts on his feet as he looks between her and his brother, chancing a glance up at the camera.

“Hey,” he says.

“You want a beer?” Sam asks, clapping his shoulder once before releasing it and stepping around him on his way to the kitchen, easy as anything, and Dean watches him go dumbly before he finally finds his voice.

“Uh, sure. Yeah. Thanks.”

He only takes a couple of steps before Jess is hugging him.

“What the hell is going on?” he asks, and she huffs out a watery laugh as she pulls away, wiping at her bright eyes.

“You thought we were going to disown you or something,” she says.

“Yeah, well--”

“Yeah well nothing,” Jess says, and slaps his arm. “Don’t you think we’d know more than anyone exactly how human Cas is? I mean, we’ve known he’s had a crush on you for _ages_ , but we never thought--”

“Jess,” Cas interrupts, the lights turning sunset pink just as Dean feels his cheeks grow hot. “I think Sam needs help in the kitchen.”

Looking up at the camera with a raised brow, Jess grins.

“If you want to talk to Dean alone--” she starts, and Dean covers his face with his hands.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters.

“Sorry, sorry, I’ll go.”

A moment later, Dean drops his hands to find himself alone in the entry hall. The sliding doors make a quiet hum as they close.

“Are you alright?” Cas asks him.

“Yeah,” Dean breathes, and rests his palm against the wall. Cas might not be able to feel it, but it’s the best he can do. “You?”

“I’m fine. They’ve both been very accepting. I wanted to call you before you came here, but Sam pointed out that you’d probably panic.”

“Well he wasn’t wrong,” Dean admits. “Sam said something about a road trip, though. Any idea what he’s talking about?”

“They haven’t mentioned anything like that.”

“You don’t think they’re going to try and cart me away or something, do you?”

“I think it’s highly unlikely,” Cas says.

With a sigh, Dean run his hand through his hair and looks up at the camera.

“Alright. Let’s get this over with.”

He finds Sam and Jess on the couch, both holding glasses of soda, and when he makes his way over to the armchair he sees a third glass on the coffee table.

“Apparently someone drank all our beer,” Sam says pointedly as he takes a sip, and Dean grimaces before looking accusingly up at the camera.

“You were meant to remind me about that,” he says.

“You told me to remember the brand, which was Hardhead Imperial Chocolate Stout. You never mentioned it again, and then you left.”

“Hah!” Sam says pointing at Dean with the kind of smug expression that only a sibling could have.

“Alright, fine. I forgot. I’ll replace it.”

“That’s all I ask,” Sam laughs.

Sitting on the armchair, Dean can’t help but think that it’s too comfortable. Too normal considering the reason Sam and Jess came back. There’s an elephant in the room and they’re just sitting there like it’s been there the entire time.

“So, what’s this road trip you mentioned?” he asks, because he has to ask them something, and it’s the only thing he can think of.

“We’re going to Cupertino,” Sam says, leaning back against the couch.

“All of us,” Jess adds, looking up at the camera. “You too, Cas.”

“How?” Dean and Cas both ask at the same time, and Dean adds, “Why?”

Sam and Jess glance at each other, something conspiratorial in their expressions that makes Dean nervous as hell.

“Well,” Jess starts slowly. “Charlie said to tell you that the road trip was step four, and that step five was still a surprise.”

“She said you’d know what that meant,” Sam adds.

“Sure, insofar as I knew that a step four and five existed,” Dean says, pulling a face. “She didn’t tell you anything else?”

“Yep,” Jess says, lips popping on the ‘p’, and Sam stretches his arm in an exaggerated fashion, looping one around Jess’ shoulders as he looks from Dean to the camera with a smirk. “She told us everything.”

______

 

The CPU is strapped in to the back seat beside Jess, and as Dean drives them north Sam reaches back every now and then to check that the seat-belt hasn’t slipped.

“He’s fine,” Jess tells him after the fifth time he does it, and Sam settles back into his seat with a sheepish expression on his face. “I’m keeping an eye on him.”

Dean glances at her in the rearview mirror, shooting her a nervous smile as he tightens his grip on the steering wheel.

“Is this weird?” he asks as the bridge to the city comes into view, glancing over at Sam. His brother shrugs.

“I think it’s...”

“It’s weird,” Dean says, shaking his head as he stares hard at the road ahead. “It’s-- fuck, this whole thing was probably a huge mistake. I should be-- I’m a--”

“Dean, breathe,” Jess says, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder over the seat, and Dean does as he’s told, letting the touch of her hand steady him.

“It _is_ pretty weird,” Sam says after Dean has calmed down, and Jess hisses at him.

“ _Sam_.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s a mistake,” Sam goes on, raising his hands defensively. “Dean, we know better than anyone that Cas isn’t... like, it’s not as if you’re crushing on a microwave, here. He’s a person in every way that counts.”

“He’s a bunch of electrical signals,” Dean says, even though saying it makes him feel like an asshole.

“So are you,” Jess says, and yeah, she’s got a point. “This is no different than if you fell for someone through letters, or the internet or something. It’s _unconventional_. It’s not wrong.”

“I’m really fucking scared right now,” Dean admits after a couple more miles.

“Do you want to change your mind?” Sam asks him seriously. “Cas is powered down. We could just--”

“Sam, if you say what I think you’re about to say you can walk your ass back to Santa Clarita,” Dean bites out. “I’m not changing my mind. Don’t even--”

Glancing over at Sam, he catches him grinning and sighs.

“You knew that would piss me off, huh?”

“Yep,” Sam laughs. “Took care of the fear, though, right?”

_______

 

Charlie and Gilda’s townhouse sits on a busy street in Cupertino. Inside, Charlie plugs the CPU into a spare monitor and powers it up. It’s only a few seconds before it activates. Cas’ voice comes through the side speakers.

“Hello? Are we at Charlie’s house?”

“Yeah, Cas, we’re here,” Dean says, grinning in his relief that he doesn’t seem to have forgotten anything after the temporary disconnection. It’s short-lived.

“Something is wrong,” Castiel says, speaking faster than usual. “Something is wrong. I can’t see anything. I can’t hear anything. Why can’t I see? Dean? Sam? Jess? Are you there? Hello? Hello?”

“Oh, crap, hold on,” Charlie says, and ducks out of the room as Cas talks a mile a minute, running back a few moments later with a little USB webcam which she plugs in and attaches to the top of the monitor. A little green light blinks on when it activates, and the camera makes a small humming sound as Cas stops panicking to focus the lens. The image he picks up fills the screen, and he looks at Dean.

“There you are,” he says, voice returning quickly to his normal calm cadence.

“Sorry about that, Cas,” Charlie says with an embarrassed grimace. “I forgot that monitor didn’t have a camera. Welcome to Nerdtopia.”

“It’s good to meet you, Charlie,” Cas says, and the relief in his voice is palpable when he swivels the lens to focus on Dean, Sam and Jess. “I was worried something had gone wrong.”

“Wouldn’t let that happen,” Dean promises.

“So!” Charlie says, and claps her hands together sharply, dragging everyone’s attention back to her. She’s bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Is everyone ready for step five? Or, I mean... the plan for step five?”

“Yes?” Cas says, though it comes with an upward inflection, and Dean feels his heart in his throat. Charlie grins as she opens her laptop.

“It’s not much more than schematics and code at this point,” she says, flipping through windows, “but I’m confident it won’t take me too much longer to build a prototype for you to use until your real body is ready.”

Spinning the laptop around, she shows them a rapid slideshow of what looks to Dean like a bunch of squiggly lines and dots. He’d have no idea what he was looking at if Charlie hadn’t just used the word _body_.

“You’re building Cas a body?” Dean asks, and she grins, nodding as she leans forward to click on another window.

“So Cas, obviously you’ll get the final say on what exactly you look like, but I know some people who’ve been working on synthetic skin and stuff for androids, and they’ve agreed to help out if you want to go down that route.”

She clicks through a couple of pages of what look like portrait photos, and it takes Dean a moment to understand what he’s looking at.

“Those are androids?”

“Look just like regular people, huh?” Charlie says, excitement written over her features. “I’ll take you guys down to their labs tomorrow and you can see some of them in action. None of them are sentient, mind you, but if you didn’t know beforehand you’d just assume they were human.”

“I would have a face,” Cas says, as though he’s only just caught up with what’s been happening. “Charlie, are you saying I would have a face?”

“Yeah, Cas,” she tells him, closing the laptop. “A face and a body to walk around in. Feet to kick Dean with if he’s being an ass. Hands to flip off people who annoy you. The whole shebang.”

“What about the house?” Cas asks, and it’s such an absurd question that nobody answers for a moment. “Jess, who would make your coffee?”

“We’re going to have Chuck install another system,” Sam says, and rushes to add: “No AI this time, though. Just an automated system with presets and remote controls.”

“You would all do this for me? For us?”

“Of course, Cas,” Sam says. “It’s already organized. Chuck’s coming out this weekend to set it all up.”

“How’s that going to work, though?” Dean asks with a frown. “Won’t he want to take this CPU with him? I mean, _we_ know Cas is a person, but will Elysian see it that way?”

“I’ve already been in touch with him,” Charlie says with a wink. “He’s the one who gave us the instructions on how to safely disconnect Cas’ CPU from the house so we could get it up here. Elysian doesn’t know, though, and they’re going to want the original back when he installs the replacement. But I’ve got a plan.” 

“Cas, if you’re comfortable with it, I’d like to transfer your most recent build onto a new CPU, and only leave the original build from before anything was activated on your current CPU. That way Sam and Jess can take that one home, and no-one at Elysian will be suspicious that their code has been swiped.”

“That sounds sensible,” Cas says.

“Then we have a deal,” Charlie says, and sticks out her hand. 

Cas’ camera lens hums again as he tilts it forward to look at her extended hand. 

“What are you doing?”

“Waiting to shake your hand,” she says.

“Charlie, I don’t--”

“Don’t you?” 

She raises her brow, and after a few seconds there’s a low clicking sound as a box on the desk beside the monitor slides open and a robotic hand extends, fingers flexing experimentally. Charlie catches it in her own and the fingers still before it pulls suddenly back into the box, the lid closing fast.

“What--” Cas asks. “I--”

“You felt it, right?” Charlie asks, beaming, and Dean looks from Charlie to the camera lens with wide eyes.

“Holy crap,” he says.

“ _Yes_ ,” Cas says, bewildered. “Yes, I think I… How did you--”

“Sensors,” Charlie says, waving her hand in the air. “They pick up all kinds of physical stimulus. Temperature, pressure, vibration.”

“Touch,” Cas says. “That was touch.”

The hand extends out from the box again, and Cas tracks it with the camera, flexing it into a fist and spreading the fingers out.

“Charlie, this is incredible,” he says.

“You’re pretty incredible yourself,” she tells him.

“I’m an accident,” Cas corrects her.

“A happy accident,” she says. “You’re serendipitous, Cas.”

“This is more than I ever expected. Will I-- will my body have this ability?”

“Of course, Cas,” Charlie says.

The camera swivels around a little, finally settling on Dean, and Dean grins nervously when Cas’ hand beckons him forward.

“Dean,” Cas says. “Would you--”

Stepping forward, Dean reaches out and touches the tips of their fingers together, sliding them softly down to Cas’ palm before gripping his hand fully. It feels like cool, firm rubber, colder in places where the metal joints are exposed.

“Your skin is warm,” Cas tells him, and as Dean lets out a nervous, shuddering laugh he  squeezes Cas’ hand in his. He never wants to let go.

**Author's Note:**

> So... that was a fic. 
> 
> I honestly can't even remember what prompted me to start writing this, but it's been sitting in my drafts folder 3/4 complete for months. This afternoon while my internet was down I decided to play around with it and somehow it ended up finished.
> 
> I'm not expecting it to get a whole lot of attention due to the weird factor, but if you do read it please let me know what you thought :)


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